#the edge of love fanfiction

[viesantewrites]

𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x Reader

Previous Part

summary: The reader finds a mysterious diary in a library that belonged to William Killick in the 1930s. When she writes something in it, her notes appear in the past (1937) which allows the two to communicate with each other and they eventually fall in love.

note: I was watching "The Lake House" from 2006 with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves and felt inspired by it. (& Also by Tom Riddle's diary in chamber of the secrets) I know that whole concept isn’t brand new but I enjoyed writing it. So welcome to my new cillian fanfic, hope you like it. I‘m not a native English speaker but I try my best.

William's part is set in 1937 and he lives in London. But he has a different job from the one in the film "The Edge of Love"

Masterlist

………………………………………………………………………….

YN slept poorly through the night as a fierce storm raged outside. Thunder rumbled and flashes of lightning repeatedly illuminated the dark room. YN tossed and turned, every sudden jolt making her flinch. The raindrops on the windows and the howling wind added to her discomfort, making sleep almost impossible.

Eventually, despite the storm, she drifted off and woke up in the morning incredibly exhausted. The sky was clear now, and the sun shone through the open curtains. Tired, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was glad it was Sunday and she had the day to herself. She remembered that she had to call Veronica urgently or she would be very angry with her. YN felt guilty that she had brushed off her best friend last evening. But then suddenly all the strange events of the previous day came back to her mind.

She slowly crawled out of bed and walked barefoot to her bedside table, reaching for the black notebook. Everything that had happened last night suddenly felt unreal, as if it had all been a dream. With trembling fingers she leafed through the book. It showed Killick's photo, his notes and diary entries, but when she reached the last page she stopped. Her own note was gone, and also Killick's reply and the brief conversation they had yesterday. Relieved, YN closed the book and sank into the chair beside her. It really had been a strange dream. Frankly, she was glad that incredibly weird and scary things she couldn't explain didn't actually happen. A diary that communicated with her? A young man from the 30s whose soul was trapped in a book? No, that couldn’t be real.

But she was still happy about the notebook because the diary entries were incredibly interesting and gave an insight into what life in London must have been like almost 90 years ago, even without magical powers. It would be perfect for her thesis.

YN yawned and grabbed her phone. She was going to ask Veronica if she wanted to meet her at her favourite café so they could plan the party together and enjoy their day. After all, she didn't have to worry about her thesis anymore. At least not today.

***

Confused, William looked at the blank pages in front of him. This couldn't be true. Where had the stranger's mysterious messages gone? Hadn't she claimed to be from the future last night?

He rubbed his temples as he sat down to breakfast at his small kitchen table and stirred his tea. His brain seemed to be working non-stop, giving him no rest. He flipped through the pages again, but where yesterday there had been his own writing and that of the stranger, today there was nothing but blank white paper. Did the notebook erase the messages at the start of a new day? What strange magic was this?

William's stomach growled quietly. Sighing, he got up and found a single piece of dry, hard bread in the basket on the kitchen counter. That should be enough for this morning, he didn't have any more, and bread was expensive.

He sat down at the table, took a bite of the bread, opened the diary again, grabbed his pen and began to write.

***

The day flew by for YN. She didn’t even think a second about the notebook, just enjoyed the day with Veronica. The weather was pleasantly warm for September, and it felt as if summer was making one last appearance before disappearing for months. Veronica had been busy planning her birthday party, from the guest list to the seating arrangements to the drinks, as she wanted the party to be perfect. YN liked seeing her so happy and invested in something, especially as Veronica was one of those people who could hardly get excited about anything.

In a good mood, YN returned to her small flat in the evening and lay down on the couch. Now it was time to relax and watch TV, but not for too long, she had to get up early tomorrow and didn't want to be too tired and unfocused at university. Maybe her best friend was right and she really was a nerd.

As she thought about university, Killick's notebook suddenly came back to her mind. She had decided this morning not to touch it, but for some reason YN just couldn't let it go. She felt guilty. It wasn't hers, after all, and perhaps it would be better if she returned it to the library tomorrow, after making notes and copies for her thesis.

Lost in thought, she finally got up, went into the bedroom, took it from the bedside table where she had left it this morning, leafed through it and suddenly flinched. This couldn't be happening, she must be dreaming again. What on earth was happening? Trembling, she dropped the book and pinched her arm as hard as she could. The pain shot through her body and she bit her lip in desperation. She was wide awake, she wasn't dreaming, and she could clearly see William's new note in his neat handwriting on the white paper. Right where there had been nothing but an empty page this morning. He had answered her again. With a pounding heart and bated breath, she began to read.

𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒴𝒩,

ℐ'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝓌𝑜 𝑜𝒻 𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝑜𝓃 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓂𝓊𝓃𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝓊𝓉 �� 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝓁𝓊𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑒𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒢𝑜𝒹'𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓇𝓎, 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓁 𝒸𝒾𝓇𝒸𝓊𝓂𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓈𝒾𝓂𝓅𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒 𝒾𝓂𝓅𝑜𝓈𝓈𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒. 𝒮𝑜 ℐ 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓇𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝒸𝒸𝑒𝓅𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓎 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜.

ℐ 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 ℐ 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒. 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒? 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝓁𝓎, 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝓁𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒻𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓈 ℐ’𝓋𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒸𝓁𝒶𝒾𝓂? 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, ℐ 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 ℐ'𝓂 𝒶 𝒷𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝓎𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈. 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓁𝒾𝓉𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁 𝓈𝒾𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓈𝑒? ℐ'𝓂 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 ℐ 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ'𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉.

ℐ 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓁𝓀𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔. ℐ 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓌 𝓊𝓅 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓂𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓋𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒲𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 ℒ𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 ℐ 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝟷𝟽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓋𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. ℐ 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝑜𝒹𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑜 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝒾𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒? 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀, 𝑜𝓇 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝒹𝑜 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂?

ℐ 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 ℐ 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉,

𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓂

Tears began to well up in YN's eyes. Even though she still couldn't believe what was happening, this message had touched her deeply. He seemed so accessible, as if he had opened his heart a little to her. To her, a complete stranger from another time.

Almost automatically, YN's hands reached for the pen, and it began to scratch across the old, slightly yellowed paper. Small tears dripped onto the paper as she wrote, lost in her thoughts, only the sounds of London reaching her ears now and then to bring her back to the present. Her heart pounding, she lowered the pen and read her message once more before closing the book and falling asleep.

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚,

𝑇𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝘩𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑐𝘩𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑟, 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝐼 𝑠𝑎𝑤 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙. 𝑀𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑡𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐, 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑙, 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠. 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝘩𝑦 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡'𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝘩𝑦 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝟸𝟸𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟. 𝐼𝑡'𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑓 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑢𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡.

𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝐼 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑐ℎ 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑒𝑒, 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠, 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑠. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑜 𝑓𝑙𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑦𝑒𝑡, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒. 𝑃𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦. 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝐼 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑎 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼'𝑚 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑐𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑤𝘩𝑜'𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑎 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝘩𝑜 𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑖𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝𝘩𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝐺𝑒𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝑁𝑜𝑟𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑. 𝐴 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑒. 𝑊𝘩𝑖𝑐𝘩 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠 𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝐼 𝑠𝘩𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚. 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.

𝑀𝑦 𝘩𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑠𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠. 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑, 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑒𝑟��𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘𝑠 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑔𝑜. 𝐼 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓𝑡𝑒𝑛. 𝐼 𝑢𝑠𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑓 𝐼 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓.

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠𝘩 𝐼 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢. 𝐼'𝑚 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒.

𝑅𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝐼 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝐵𝑖𝑔 𝐵𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔𝘩 𝑚𝑦 𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑛 𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑤, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼'𝑚 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛. 𝐼𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑐𝑟𝑎𝑧𝑦? 𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝟾𝟶 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑤𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑔𝑎𝑟𝑑𝑠,

𝑌𝑁

***

The library was empty and quiet as YN slowly climbed the long staircase the next day, clutching William's diary to her chest. She was unsure if what she was about to do was the right thing. Her mind kept telling her that she had stolen the diary and should give it back, but her heart wanted to keep it so that she could continue to communicate with William. He had left her another little message this morning. He thanked her for her reply, told her about his day yesterday, his work as a carpenter in London, and how he had found a stray kitten in the street and was now taking care of it.

YN loved reading his messages. He wrote so vividly, as if you were really there and experiencing the events for yourself. He also seemed like a really good person, even in such difficult times.

YN sighed one last time as she looked down at the notebook in her hand, then approached the reception desk where the elderly librarian from last week turned to her with a smile.

"Hello, madam. There you are again. Looking for another book for your thesis?"

YN took a deep breath and shook her head. She could hardly bring herself to tell the lady what she wanted. She didn't want to return the book, she wanted to keep reading William's beautiful messages. But her mind forced her to.

"Are you okay?" the librarian asked, looking worried.

Finally, YN gathered her courage and handed her the old notebook.

"I wanted to return this. I found it in the old George Nordwood book. Somehow it got into my bag and I took it home. I'm sorry, really."

The older lady looked at the book in silence and accepted it.

YN felt a wave of sadness wash over her. She had decided to return it and would never read William's notes again. "It belonged to a man named William Killick. I don't know who he is or what he has to do with George Nordwood, but I suppose we'll never find out," she said.

The librarian remained silent, opened the book, ran her finger over William's photograph on the first page, then tilted her head slightly. "He's my grandfather. He told me you were coming. Since I was a little girl. I have no idea how he knew about you but he was right."

The words sent a shiver down YN's spine. How did he know that?

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thank you for reading! ❤️

(yes i know it’s damien and not william but i liked the picture :D)

tag list:

@freedomring1

you liked part 1, so i hope it’s okay that I‘m adding you to my taglist:

@tenderly-hopeful-collection

@jz12luvscl16 @jz12

[viesantewrites]

(Here‘s the link to part 2)

-> Wanted to add part 1 to my archive but ended up accidentally deleting it ?? But I think I fixed it, if you use the app click here you still can read it the whole fic

⬇️

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𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x Reader

Introduction

summary: The reader finds a mysterious diary in a library that belonged to William Killick in the 1930s. When she writes something in it, her notes appear in the past (1937) which allows the two to communicate with each other and they eventually fall in love.

note: I was watching "The Lake House" from 2006 with Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves and felt inspired by it. (& Also by Tom Riddle's diary in chamber of the secrets) I know that whole concept isn’t brandnew and had been done before but I enjoyed writing it. So welcome to my new cillian fanfic, hope you like it. I‘m not a native English speaker but I try my best.

William's part is set in 1937 and he lives in London. But he has a different job from the one in the film "The Edge of Love"

warnings: none

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The room was dark, except for the small candle that bathed the room in a flickering orange light. The wind whipped against the walls and he feared that the large tree in front of the house would be uprooted. Thoughtfully, he sat down at his wooden desk, opened the notebook, picked up his fountain pen and began to write. The pen scratched gently across the pages as he put his thoughts to paper. Finally, he closed the book with a sigh, blew out the candle and lay down in bed. Outside it was deathly quiet. Unusual for a city as big as London. It was almost eerie.

***

"Oh, this book really describes the events of that time very well," the librarian said, handing her a thick book. YN took a deep breath and then smiled, shaking her head as she realised that it had been published six years ago. "Do you have anything that was written in the 1930s? Maybe… an original copy?"

"Of course, but unfortunately we don't lend them out, madam," the librarian said in a stern tone.

YN looked at her desperately. "Please, it's for educational purposes. I really need it for my thesis."

The librarian raised her eyebrows. "You're a student?"

"Yes. I'm studying history and I'm about to graduate."

"And your university doesn't have a library?" she asked.

"Of course it does, but the books there are all useless."

Sighing, the librarian folded her arms across her chest. "Okay, come with me. But don’t tell anyone about this, or I'll lose my job. And you definitely can't take the book home with you, you'll have to read it here. Try to hide it as best you can."

"Agreed," YN said excitedly and followed the librarian who led her to the top floor. She stopped in front of a narrow door and took a key from her pocket. "Here are all the antique books we have. As I told you, they are not for loan. Most of them are from the late 19th or early 20th century, don’t touch them, okay? However, we do have some books from the 1930s, as you requested."

The door swung open with a creak. In front of them was a small room, dimly lit by sunlight shining through a small window. The walls were bare and looked cold and uninviting. High shelves lined with books in thick old leather bindings, covered in a thin layer of dust, filled the room. "This is amazing!" YN yelled excitedly.

"Come with me. Don't touch anything unless I say so."

"Of course, Madam."

The librarian paused in front of a small shelf, ran her eyes over the spines of the books and pulled out a thick book in a dark green leather binding with the title 'The face of the Time' by George Norwood.

"Original copy, written in 1935. George Norwood was born in Windsor in 1891 and wrote extensively about his youth, childhood and adult life."

"This is perfect. I'm so grateful, you've helped me so much." She happily took the book.

The librarian smiled a bit and nodded at her. "You're welcome. But remember our agreement."

"Of course, madam."

With a satisfied grin, YN left the room with the old books and sat down at one of the small round tables. She glanced around, afraid that someone might be watching her. But it was quite late, and only an older man was standing in front of one of the shelves minding his own business.

She quickly opened the book and was surprised to find something tucked between the cover and the first page. It was a small black and very thin notebook and a holder on the edge of it held an very old looking pen. Curiously, she opened the book. Could these be original notes from the author, George Norwood? Holding her breath, she read the name written in dark blue letters on the inside cover.

𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶 𝓚𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓴.

Underneath was an old black and white photograph. It showed a man, perhaps in his mid to late 20s, with dark hair, wearing an elegant suit for that time, standing in front of a small house. He was very handsome, YN noticed. Was this Killick and why was his notebook inside a biography of George Norwood?

Holding her breath, she turned the pages and began to read the neat handwriting.

𝟏𝟓𝓽𝓱 𝓙𝓾𝓵𝔂 𝟏𝟗𝟑𝟕

𝒯𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝑒𝒶𝓇𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑜𝒷𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶 𝓈𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉.

𝐼 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝒾𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝓎 𝒶𝓂 𝐼 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒? 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝓊𝓇𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝒶𝓅𝒾𝒹𝓁𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹? 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶��𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒.

𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓂𝓈 𝓈𝑜 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝒾𝑔𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃'𝓈 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.

Excited, YN turned more and more pages and found more diary entries that went up to yesterday, but 86 years ago. The following pages were empty.

At that moment, YN's phone rang and her heart almost stopped as she was so deep in thought. The older man in front of the shelf watched her curiously, but then looked back again to the book he was holding. YN answered the call. "Hey, YN! It's Veronica!" she heard her best friend's voice. "Oh hi Vero, what's up? I'm sorry, but I don't have much time right now, I'm in the library studying."

"You little nerd." Veronica laughed. "Do you at least have a second?" She didn't wait for YN's answer. "I found a great place for my birthday party next month, it's going to be amazing!"

"Oh yeah, cool, where?"

"The restaurant 'The Ivy House' at 28 Thames Street. You should write the adress down now so you won’t forget it."

"Can't it wait...?" YN distractedly pulled the old pen out of the notebook's holder.

"No, it can't, YN!" Veronica's voice on the other end sounded very insistent.

"Well, what did you say the address was?"

"28 Thames Street," her best friend repeated.

Absentmindedly, the pen scratched across the old and a bit yellowed pages of the notebook as YN wrote down the street name.

Finally, she said goodbye to Veronica and hung up the phone. Only then did she realise what she had done. Had she lost her mind? Had she just destroyed a well-preserved, almost 90-year-old artefact with her scribbles? After all, it wasn't even hers.

However, the author, Killick, was probably long dead, unless he was now nearly 120 years old, which she doubted. Unnoticed, YN slipped the notebook into her bag and turned back to her original reading of George Norwood.

However, she was disappointed to find that Nordwood's book was incredibly poorly written, overly long, lacking in information and generally quite boring. She finally closed it and rubbed her forehead with a sigh. What a waste of time. Grumbling, she got up, tucked the dark green book under her jacket and walked over to the reception desk where the librarian was sitting.

With a tired smile, YN handed it back. "I'm sorry, it wasn't really my taste. But thank you for helping me."

Raising her eyebrows, the librarian took it, but smiled kindly and wished YN a good evening.

***

The day had been so long. William felt every bone in his body. He hated his work as a carpenter, but how else could he make a living? The wages he earned barely paid for a small flat, and he was lucky that the landlady was his aunt. Grumbling, he pushed open the door and was about to climb the stairs when he heard a familiar voice behind him. "William, how lovely to see you. But you’re very late today."

Lost in thought, he glanced down at the newspaper in his hand that he had bought on the way home, but then looked back at his aunt. "My bike had a flat tyre. Luckily I had a repair kit with me. Maybe one day I'll be able to afford a car, who knows…?"

His aunt looked at him compassionately. "I've made some soup, would you like to eat with me?"

Surprised, he looked at her. "That's really not necessary, I'll eat in my own flat."

"Please, William. I know how hard you work."

Gratefully, William followed her into her flat and sat down in the kitchen, putting the newspaper on the dining table. Slowly, he reached over and turned on the radio, listening to the soft music that filled the room.

"So how is it going, William? Have you met a young lady recently?" His aunt looked at him with interest.

William sighed briefly and leaned back in his chair. "No, I haven't."

She shook her head and looked at him. "I don't understand. You're such a handsome, kind boy."

"I'm 27 years old, Aunt Margaret," William chuckled slightly. "I'm no longer a boy."

"You'll always be one to me," she said, looking at her nephew with a smile. She had no children of her own, and her husband had died young. William had been like a son to her.

"I'll get the soup and the bowls," she said, turning around.

"Wait, I'll help you," he replied quickly, getting up.

"No, William, sit down, I'll do it," she said firmly.

Finally, William sat down again. Carefully, he pulled his black diary from his jacket pocket and leafed through it. His fingers stopped on the last written page and he looked at it in confusion. His heart pounding, he turned back a page. There was his entry from last night, just as he had written it. But on the next page, in an unfamiliar handwriting, was a strange, short note.

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝐼𝑣𝑦 𝐻𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑅𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑡, 𝟸𝟾 𝑇𝘩𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑡

He started to shiver. Who had written it down there? He had carried his diary in his coat pocket all day, it would have been impossible for it to fall into someone else's hands. But what if it had? Was it some kind of secret meeting place? But there was no restaurant called The Ivy House on Thames Street, let alone number 28. William knew every street and every single house in London. Confused, he reached for his pen and crossed out the note.

"Careful, the soup is hot," Aunt Margaret said as she placed the steaming pot on the dining table and pushed a bowl of soup towards her nephew.

But he sat there, lost in thought, writing intently in his notebook.

***

"This is going to be amazing, YN, I'm telling you. They make the best cocktails there and they even have a live band that is playing at that day! Jenny also celebrated her birthday there, she said it was awesome".

YN didn’t really listen to her best friend's voice on the phone but she was adding an occasional "hmm" or "yeah, right" to the conversation.

She slowly took the small notebook out of her bag and sat cross-legged on her bed. Suddenly, she felt an incredible sense of guilt for taking it home with her. Technically, she hadn't stolen it, as it didn't belong to the library and had accidentally slipped into another book, but it wasn't hers either. What should she do now? Should she return it? Should she throw it in the bin? The second option was out of the question. Her love for old documents was simply too big.

Lost in thought, she gazed at the slightly faded photo of Killick that was glued inside. What kind of man might he have been? How might he have lived and worked?

"Are you even listening to me, YN?" Veronica's voice sounded a little annoyed.

YN sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I'm sorry, Vero. I've had a long day and I've been studying a lot. I'll call you tomorrow and then we can talk about your party, okay?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "It's okay, I understand. Good night, YN", Vero said and hung up.

With a sigh, YN put the phone down beside her and turned her attention back to the notebook.

She wanted to punch herself for writing in it. Maybe she could remove the ink somehow.

When she turned to the last page, what she saw made her freeze in shock. The address of the restaurant she had written down in the library earlier that day was neatly crossed out. Beneath it, in cursive handwriting, were the following words:

𝐼 𝒹𝑜𝓃'𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝓂𝑒. - 𝒲.𝒦. - 𝟸𝟹𝓇𝒹 𝒮𝑒𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 𝟷𝟿𝟹𝟽.

With her mouth open, YN stared at the page of the notebook. The handwriting matched that of the other diary entries. It was William Killick's handwriting. But this man must have been dead for years, as she had calculated earlier. Besides, how could he have got hold of the book if it'd been in YN's bag all this time? Was someone playing a nasty joke?

With trembling fingers, she pulled the pen from its holder and wrote under the mysterious note:

𝐼 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑.

Then she dropped the pen, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Whatever was happening here was extremely creepy. Maybe she should just meditate for a while and then go to bed. It was quite possible that she was just overworked. Slowly, she opened her eyes again and her gaze fell on the open page of the book again. Suddenly, an icy shiver ran down her spine. This couldn't be real. It was impossible. Beneath her note, in Killick's cursive handwriting, was the following message:

ℐ 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝑜, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓈 𝓂𝑒. ℳ𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒶𝓂 𝒦𝒾𝓁𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇?

Did Killick write these messages nearly 90 years ago? How could the messages have only now surfaced? And even more strangely, how could he be responding to her messages? Was she communicating with someone from the past through this notebook? Was this book some kind of portal through time and space?

With bated breath, YN wrote under Killick's note:

𝑀𝑦 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑌𝑁. 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝟸𝟹𝑟𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟹.

Her heart pounding, she dropped the pen and closed the diary.

***

[lenoraslament]

slytherin boys + edging/orgasm denial!!!

Thanks for the request!

Slytherin Boys React: Edging / Orgasm Denial

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, piv, oral (male and female receiving), degradation, orgasm denial, edging, smut with no plot.

Mattheo Riddle

“Add Ashwinder egg to a cauldron, then add horseradish and heat” Mattheo’s voice sounded strained as your head bobbed down on his cock. The sound of your gagging muffled his words so you pulled away as he groaned.

“What kind of egg?” Your eyebrow raised as he tried to grab your hair and pull you back. You smack his hand as he gives you a desperate look.

“Ashwinder…baby please” he mutters and you lick the head flicking your tongue over it.

“What’s next?” You asked as your tongue moves down the length.

“Anemone?” Mattheo asks as he grabs the bedsheets, his head falls back as he groans. You sit straight up and he panics. “Thyme? Occamy?” He grabs your wrist trying to pull you back, he’s aching and he bites your lip. Your head is shaking as you hop off, “Rue!? IS IT FUCKING RUE!?” He calls after you but you’re already walking towards his door giving him a devilish smirk.

“You really should study” you tease leaving him panting helplessly on the bed as he reaches for his potions textbook to find the recipe for Felix Felicis hoping he could still get lucky.

Theodore Nott

Your thighs burned, it was quite a workout. Theo’s head was thudding on the headboard as your rocked your hips back and forth on him. Your ministrations were slow and teasing. His knitted brow, mouth hanging slack as another low groan escaped his lips was worth how absolutely spent you were.

Just when you felt his legs begin to tighten you pulled away giving him a little slap on the cheek.

“Ah fuck” he muttered his eyes nearly rolling back as you ripped another climax away from him. He licked his lips as he looked at you half lidded, “No more teasing, let me fill you up” he muttered in his low voice.

“No” you said haughtily, “why don’t you ask Astoria to?”. Your cheeks were flushed with defiance. You caught them talking, no flirting in the common room.

“I don’t want her baby, I only want you bella” he said in nearly a whiny voice that made you grin.

You sunk back down on his aching, rigid cock as his lips let out another moan.

“Then say my name, and maybe I’ll let you come” you say and snap your hips forward to see if you can chase your own high before you take away his.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Enzo is flattered, tickled even when you tell him you want him to edge you. What the hell were you thinking? This boy researched. For hours. Reading articles, watching porn, asking his friends.

Your legs are tied to his bedposts, Enzo lays between them observing your impossibly wet pussy. It’s been nearly an hour, your back arches as you desperately seek out a means to an end. His fingers swirl around your swollen clit, eliciting a loud moan from you.

Enzo chuckles and dips two fingers into your cunt, listening to how loudly you cry out from barely any movement. The past hour he has edged you so badly, you nearly begin to beg when he pulls away again.

He ghosts his finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves and you come. Hard. You clench around nothing as your body finally gives in at the faintest touch.

“Holy shit,” Enzo says in a low voice. He didn’t mean for you to finish so soon, although just the sight of you letting go is enough to make him want more.

“Let’s do that again” he says.

Draco Malfoy

“Don’t be so impatient love,” Draco whispers as he slides his cock over your aching pussy.

“Once…Draco I said it ONCE,” you whine and your eyes roll back as you bite your bottom lip. Earlier in the day he had tried to pull you away from a conversation with Enzo. You made the mistake of rolling your eyes and telling him to “stop being impatient”.

You try and grind yourself up to meet him but he is quick to shove your hips down and onto the bed as he tuts.

“Baby please” you plead as he brushes a strand of hair out of your face.

“So needy for me pretty girl,” he says and shoves himself forward making you gasp. A few strokes and he’s gone again leaving you nearly clawing at his back for more.

Blaise Zabini

It was time for revenge. After he made you fall apart in the Great Hall you knew you had to get your boyfriend back. It was Friday night and another party in the Slytherin common room was in full swing.

You had on a short, black bodycon dress, no panties. There was work to be done. When you spotted your boyfriend he was laughing with Draco, already a few drinks down.

“I need you baby…now,” you muttered in his ear. He stood nearly immediately and began to lead you to his dorm. You shake your head and pull him down the hall, the sight of the broom closet makes him even more excited. Nothing gets him going like the taboo.

He’s ravaging your lips, neck, chest. When his hands reach your thighs and he realizes you aren’t wearing panties he groans loudly. You hitch your leg up on his waist as he fumbled with his belt. The two of you combined feverishly, he pushes into you with eager strokes.

It’s not long until you hear his breath hitch and you pull away so quickly he is breathless with confusion. You pull away with a wink and open the door, he scrambles to cover himself.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He asked loudly.

“Save it for later I guess” you call back grinning.

Tom Riddle

“You think,” Tom snapped forward making your hips bite into the desk, “you’re so damn….” He pulled your hair making you flush to his chest, “funny”.

To be fair it was funny. Tom was in the common room, talking to Mattheo and Draco when you sauntered over. You sat on his lap, your lips moving to his ear, “I’m so wet right now,” you mumbled to Mr. No PDA. Tom’s eyes widened as Draco and Mattheo smirked at you straddling his lap.

He dragged you to his room shortly after, immediately bending you over his desk. His hands yanking your panties to the side as he pushed into you at a punishing pace. You weren’t mad about it, in fact it’s what you wanted.

“I am funny,” you tease defiantly. He pulls away turning you to face him. His eyes are pure rage, the quiet kind that actually makes you nervous. Tom lifts you onto the desk, he spread your legs and dropped to his knees, surprising you.

Under a vicelike grip on your thighs, he flutters his tongue softly, almost delicately. Tom does not usually go down on you, even though he is absolutely phenomenal at it. Within minutes you’re trembling, eyes rolling back so close to your orgasm you can nearly taste it.

Then he pulls away, wiping his mouth as he observes at your shocked face. Before you can protest he grins.

“See, I can be funny too”.

—————————————————

Actively taking requests!

[ecstarry]

i need james pulling regulus closer by his belt and then teasing reg because he’s blushing but regulus is stubborn so then he fixes james’ collar and now that gets an undeniable reaction from james, like comically clearing his throat and then someone passes by so they both take a step back and they go on about their day constantly playing that interaction on loop and hoping to run into each other again

[netegf]

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot. 

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath. 

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were. 

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another. 

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding. 

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway. 

Some things don't change. 

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses. 

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs. 

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too. 

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister. 

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend. 

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you. 

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere. 

Much to Topper's devastation. 

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise. 

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply. 

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you. 

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow. 

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely. 

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again. 

"You know he would do anything for you, right?" 

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you. 

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point." 

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat. 

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink. 

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face. 

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well. 

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him. 

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights. 

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.  

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly. 

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud. 

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly. 

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically. 

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray. 

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow. 

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming. 

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted. 

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display. 

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath. 

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage. 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it. 

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there. 

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him. 

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking. 

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint. 

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night. 

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates. 

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs. 

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway. 

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?" 

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again. 

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently. 

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you. 

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after. 

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else. 

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?" 

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house. 

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt. 

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway. 

"I love these." 

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much. 

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check. 

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat. 

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you. 

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes. 

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day. 

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing. 

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators. 

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night. 

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included. 

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.  

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all. 

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine. 

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger. 

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.  

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head. 

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date. 

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything." 

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall. 

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl. 

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together. 

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about. 

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am." 

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company. 

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you. 

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself. 

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off. 

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!". 

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin. 

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing. 

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote. 

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them. 

"Maybe later." You reply quietly. 

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else. 

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees. 

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized. 

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like." 

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that." 

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?" 

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point. 

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off. 

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement. 

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy. 

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs. 

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask." 

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that." 

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?" 

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity. 

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart. 

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long." 

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder. 

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party." 

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue." 

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground. 

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness. 

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Book Recommendations Based on Cillian Murphy's Characters! | Pt. 1?

These are all books that I've read and associate with Cillian's characters. Just because I include a book does not mean I completely agree/condone anything in them... they just remind me of the character. Characters included:

Crane

Jim

Matthew Joy

Killick

Raymond

Neil

Lenny Miller

Fischer

Let me know which books you’d recommend and which character’s recommendations you like the best!

[pinguwrites]

Ooooh, what about this? Future!reader accidentally time traveled to 1940s when she met William Killick, and he had to take care of her due to injuries she had. She ended up staying with him while rejecting his advances because she was trying to find a way to go back to future, and it wouldn’t be fair to him if she were to accept his advances, but she didn’t know William was sabotaging the solutions to ensure she would stay with him forever.

THIS IS ABSOLUTELY WONDERFUL LIKE HOLY SHIT. I was about to write something like this with Tommy in Black Heart, but I opted out, and I hadn't even considered this with William, so I'm so glad you requested it!!

this was supposed to be a short-length fic lol, it's like the longest thing I've ever written on here

Home Is Where the Heart Is ⸻ William Killick

pairing | william killick x future!reader

summary | You don't think much of the box when it arrives at your front door. That is, until you open it and are transported decades into the past. There, you fall into the arms of a handsome soldier, who is intent on making you stay.

word count | 9k

Warnings: DUB-CON, possessive!william, future!reader, period typical sexism it's okay when it's william, reader has a software job, weird time travel plot (who knows how the box got there? it's totally not going to be revealed in part two ;) ), mentions of war, reader simps so hard, p in v sex, breeding kink

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

A/N: I'm honestly not too proud with how rushed it was, but I'm glad it's out there. I'm definitely doing a part two. Be warned for errors.

You were lying in a field of grass, tall, bushy trees lining the area around you. You seemed to be in some type of countryside because in the distance you could faintly see quaint little houses and farmland (at least, you assumed it was; your vision was awfully blurry), but other than that, you had no clue as to where you were.

“Ah,” you hissed, noticing the cut on your body. When you arrived — however that happened — you had scrapped your arm on a sharp rock embedded in the dirt, and now it was bleeding, red blood trickling down your arm.

You sighed miserably, trying to make sense of the situation.

Yesterday, a packaged box arrived on your front doorstep. No address, no company, just a note in pen, To [Y/n] [L/n]. You were a little wary of its contents but brought it inside anyway. You opened it and uncovered a machine, steel and simple in its construction, yet difficult to understand. There was no instruction manual or labels for the buttons, and it took you a while to know if you were even looking at it right, the only hint being the Roman numerals inside the dials.

After tinkering around with it, you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were in a completely other place. All you had on were your clothes, some money, and your phone, which, surprise surprise, had no signal, so all you could do was look at your downloads — completely useless — and take a photo. 

I must’ve been drugged, you thought, still feeling hazy. I should have called the cops the moment I realized something was off.

You got up and took off your socks, trying to stop the bleeding with it. It wasn’t the most hygienic, but it was all you had at the moment, and you weren’t about to tear off pieces of the shirt you had on, especially not when you were already shivering. 

The contraption had traveled with you, and though you were aware it was the reason you were here in the first place, you thought it better to bring it along, as evidence. You could show it to the government, and they could use their little science ways to find the culprit. All would be fine.

All will be fine.

You started walking. You didn’t have any shoes on for protection, so it was difficult to step across the dirt, with all its rocks and insects swarming about, but you managed to get to grass quick enough, and it felt much better, almost healing to walk barefoot on the softness of mother nature.

But you didn’t get very far. Eventually, your stomach started grumbling, and you felt like your intestines were twisting inside with desperation. Your sock was now red, and your hand was trembling, so with a defeated sigh, you let go, of both the sock and the heavy machine, allowing the blood to flow freely. You bent over to pick the sock back up first, but the sudden movement made your head reel, and before you knew it, you were out again.

+++

“You’re awake,” a voice said, a male’s voice, a British accent that sounded like butter. Oh, butter, if you could get your hands on that alone you would be satisfied. 

You opened your eyes, blinking. A figure, with pale skin and dark hair made it’s way over to you, and in a panic, you crawled away, eyes darting across the room. You were on a bed, bandages on your arm, but before you could calm down or even begin to think properly, panic took over, your heart rate elevated, and you sighed, before passing out again.

+++

For about the third time today, or however long you were out, you woke up. This time your vision was much clearer, but you still had this nasty migraine in your head. You were sick inside, the kind of sick that happens when you haven’t eaten in a while but can’t eat because you feel like you’ll throw up. 

You wondered if you were in the same place again. You remembered a man, with a soothing voice, but he wasn’t here right now. Though the possibility that you had been kidnapped entered your mind, you noticed the lack of bonds and chains on your body. He was probably just helping you, you reasoned.

You slowly got out of bed, wincing at the shooting pain in your arm. You observed your surroundings. The bedroom was very minimalist, and . . . quirky. You loved the design and the materials used, as it reminded you of a cottage, but there was nothing helpful in sight. All the technology you could see, like the kitchen, needed to be updated and was worn out. There was some type of record player, or CD tape, or whatever that was called, on one of the counters and a radio beside it. 

You didn’t bother with any of that. You were thirsty, throat dry and gnawing at you, so you went to look for water, hoping that whoever lived here didn’t go out and get it from a fucking well. He probably does. Look at this place!

“Shit!” you swore, your knees buckling from underneath you. You felt so weak and miserable and vulnerable. It hit you at this moment that you were probably a hundred miles away from home, in a strange place in a strange home you’d never seen before. How were you going to get back? What were you going to do?

Tears started welling in your eyes. You hated that you were being so emotional. Why couldn’t you toughen up and deal with the situation like a proper adult?

You leaned onto the counter, trying to balance yourself, when the front door opened up, and the man you saw before walked in, carrying a bag full of vegetables and other foods. He quickly placed the bag down and held you in his arms, his warmth comforting and relaxing.

He had short, dark hair, and a sharp jawline, and from this distance, you could see light freckles scattered across his cheeks. He had the most beautiful blue eyes you’d ever seen, like glaciers, like the ocean. Fuck, he was so handsome. 

“Here,” he said, guiding you back to the bedroom. He set you down on the bed, gazing at you with such intensity, like adoration or devotion. 

“W-who are you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Where am I? Hngh.” You rubbed your temples. Didn’t he have any pain medications?

“My name is William. William Killick,” the man introduced softly. “Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you.” He went off into the kitchen and brought back a glass of water. You drank it slowly, the cool liquid flowing through your body, wetting your mouth. “I didn’t know if you had family nearby, so I took you to my place.”

William paused, as if thinking of what to say next. “Get more rest, it’s night.”

You hadn’t even noticed the time, but one look out the window told you he was right. It was pitch black outside.

“You’ll wake up tomorrow, and have some breakfast.”

You shook your head, and handed the glass back to him, only for him to set it down on the nightstand table. “Where’s my phone? Where’s my . . . box?”

He stared at you blankly, before clearing his throat. “Your stuff is in the back. I didn't know what it was — hey, don’t move.” William’s strong hands kept you in place, pushing you back down to the bed as gently as he could whilst still keeping a firm grip. “Rest,” he ordered. “Don’t need you fainting on me again.”

You wanted to argue, but you couldn’t. You laid your head on the pillow, without a choice but to trust William, and fell asleep, wrapping yourself in the blanket with a content sigh. All the questions you had, all the thoughts, faded away and were replaced by darkness.

+++

You dreamt of yourself and yourself. You, the spectator, were standing outside a window, but it wasn’t just any window. It was your window, the one that led to the inside of your bedroom, where you could see you and William — the strange man — entangled in the sheets. Lovers. You two were lovers. You two were making love. 

Anyone would have felt creepy watching someone else, and anyone would have noticed someone watching them, but none of that happened. The sun should have cast a shadow on you, but it didn't. The passerby should have called you out, but they didn’t. 

You had just enough awareness to realize that this was a dream. How were you back at home already? Why were you and William kissing?

While originally you felt nothing, like a simple observer without thoughts, you were suddenly flooded with heavy emotions. Confusion, shame, lust, confusion.

But in just a few moments, the world around you crumbled, like an earthquake, and the sun and moon passed by, stars moving across the heavens, and you were warped by time, back in the same place you were before. 

+++

You woke up with a gasp, cold sweat running down your body, and immediately William was by your side. You rested your head on his chest, grasping onto his shirt desperately, not wanting him to leave. 

“Shh, shh,” he cooed, running his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry,” you muttered, making no effort to leave his side. “I don’t know . . .”

“Shh.”

You both were like this for a while. Faint images of your dream passed through your mind, and from what little you remembered, you assumed it had been a wet dream. 

I can’t believe it, you thought. Having a wet dream — about a guy I barely met. Control yourself!

You pulled away, already missing his warmth. William frowned a little but didn’t say anything. “What’s your name, darling?” he asked. 

You hesitated.

“I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“[Y/n],” you finally told him. “Where are we?”

William narrowed his eyes. You had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, but you didn’t want to press.

“Wales,” William answered.

You froze. How the fuck did you get to Wales? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.

“Um, that’s nice,” you said awkwardly. “How long has it been since you found me?”

“A few days.”

You tried not to panic, but all you could think about was your job and your friends and your family. Have you been reported missing yet?

“You must be hungry,” William said. “I’ll cook something for you. I’m not the best, but I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

“It’s alright.” You waved his concern off, though it did tug at your heartstrings that he was worried. “I'll get some fast food.”

You dug through your pockets, hoping your wallet was still in there. Thankfully it was. You pulled it out and grabbed two crisp twenty-dollar bills, but William hissed and pushed it back in, his hand not leaving yours. 

“What are you doing carrying around that much money?” he asked, giving you an incredulous look. “How are you meant to protect yourself? Where’d you get that? Do you have a husband?”

You pushed his hand away. “I work. And what’s the problem?” 

You knew that the American dollar wasn’t equivalent to a British pound, but was the difference that bad? Sure, forty dollars was a lot of money if you were just going to a gas station or something, but nothing to get excited over. 

William huffed. “You can’t just show me that much money like that. What if I was a thief, hmm? What would you do then?”

“Are you?” you asked, not understanding why he was making such a big deal out of it.

“No. I’m a gentleman.”

You scoffed, amused, but there was a little smile on your face. “A gentleman?”

“Yes,” he insisted. “A proper man.”

There was a moment of silence between you both. You wanted him to hold you again, but you thought it would be best if you just went on your way. 

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you said, getting up from the bed. “And bandaging me and all.” You gave him one of the bills. “I know it’s in dollars, but I’m sure you can convert it.”

William didn’t take the money. “You’re not leaving — you’re still hurt. I’d be remiss if I let a lass half as pretty as you alone on the streets.”

You chalked up his way of talking to the region. You honestly found it quite attractive. That, coupled with his British accent, made you feel like you were in one of those romance movies. You had to remind yourself that he wasn’t in love with you and that you were just acting irrational and horny.

“I’ll be fine. We’ll exchange numbers, do you have a charger?”

“What?”

“A phone charger. My phone’s probably dead.”

“The box?”

You narrowed your eyes. “No, the rectangle. The phone.”

“Ah, the one that glows?”

You briefly wondered if he simply didn’t know what a phone was. You knew some people preferred not to have modern technology in their life.

“Yes. I need to call someone — ”

“ — It stopped glowing.”

Great. William obviously didn’t have a charger. And if he didn’t know what it was, no one nearby would. All that was next to do would be to walk to a big city and hope someone there could help you get back home.

“Look, darling.” You ignored the way your heart fluttered when he called you that. “I don’t know what a phone is, or why you’re here, but I know that you still need to recover.”

“I appreciate it,” you said. “But I really have to go. I have work and — ”

“ — Surely you can take a day off. What is it you do?” William asked. 

“I’m a software developer. I code.”

William had a blank face. A pink blush dusted his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “I, er, I’ve never heard of that. You mean computers? The big ones that take up a room?”

“No, it’s not the fifties.”

“Well, 1946 is close.”

You didn’t know what to make of that. “What does 1946 have to do with this?”

William observed you intently. “The year. The year is 1946.”

You blinked. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be the 20th century — that was impossible. So many things were wrong with that. How come it was you who traveled in time? Why didn’t the government know about this? Even if you were ignoring the question of how, there were still so many whys.  

“No,” you said slowly, inching away from William. What kind of sick prank was this? He was supposed to be helping you, not confusing you. “You’re messing with me.”

William sensed that you were uncomfortable, because he backed away, his hands in the air. You could tell he was waiting for the perfect moment to get closer.

“I’m not a liar . . . Are you from the future?”

Fuck. You weren’t sure. How could that even be possible?

“No,” you said hesitantly. “I dunno, I must be . . .”

Your eyes subtly peered past William and at the door. If only you could get past him . . . 

You looked straight at the window, making sure to grab his attention. “Oh,” you whispered, putting on your best shocked expression. The moment he was distracted you sprinted past him and bolted out of the room and out the house, running across the field to the next house you could see. Your arm still hurt, but you were willing to shove down the pain.

“No, no, please!” William shouted, running after you. 

In just a minute, he had caught up to you and tackled you to the ground. He pinned your hands above your head and sat on your lower stomach, rendering you useless. His lips were so close to yours, and the look on his face was pissed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice forceful, gripping onto your wrists tighter. 

“P-please,” you pathetically sputtered out. “Don’t hurt me.”

He didn’t budge. “I’m trying to help you — I’m not lying to you, and I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” you cried, squirming.

William’s eyes softened as he realized what he was doing. “You promise not to run again?”

You nodded, your lower lip wobbling. 

“Alright.”

He still didn’t let go of you, but he did pull you up from the ground, wiping the dirt off of your back. Tears flowed down your cheek like rainwater, and you couldn’t help but curl in on yourself.

William held onto your arm as he walked you back to the house, not allowing you another chance of escape, but he did wipe your tears gently and soothe you. You felt embarrassed. Why did you run? You had acted purely on instinct there. This man was clearly only trying to help. 

“Look,” he said softly, sitting you back down on the bed like a child. “I’ll take you into town, hmm? Show you around and all — maybe that’ll convince you. You must be quite far into the future to be dressing like that and to have a . . . phone with you, so things will be different, right? What year are you from?”

“. . . 2023.”

“I knew it. On your phone, there was a date. I wasn’t sure then, but . . .” William suddenly reached his hands up and rubbed his thumb across your chapped lips, catching you off guard. “They’re dry,” he said. “I’ll draw up a bath for you so you can bathe while I cook. I’ll get you some lotion afterward.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

+++

William had cooked some simple fish and chips while you cleaned yourself. You had to use a tin tub, which was insane to you, but you didn’t complain about it. He supplied you with clothing, an old-fashioned dress his mother had accidentally left here. You were grateful it was not from some ex-girlfriend or wife, even though you had no right to feel that way. You put aside your other clothes to wash later.

After finishing with that, you sat down at the dining table, and like the hungry girl you were, you gobbled the food down eagerly. It was so fresh and delicious, not at all like the food you had in the future, pumped with chemicals and artificially bred. You tried to be as neat as you could, but it was difficult when you were starving. William had watched on with amusement, telling you to slow down and straighten your back every once in a while.

He took the plates away when you both were done, and then did as he promised and gave you some lotion, but instead of letting you apply it, he took a bit of cream on his fingers and rubbed it on your lips. “Stay still,” he murmured. 

“I-I can do it—”

“No, you can’t. You’re still injured.”

You understood his reasoning. And you didn’t mind him touching you like that.

“The rest of my body is dry, too,” you blurted out.

What were you thinking? You didn’t even know this man. Trying to get him to touch the rest of your body — stupid girl.

William’s breathing hitched. “As in . . . your knees as well?”

“. . .”

He cleared his throat. “Well, then. Put them out, over my lap.”

You bit your lower lip, watching on as he rubbed his hands over your legs. His touch was so warm and it felt more like a massage. You felt bad about doing this, leading him on. If he was right about the time travel, then you couldn’t entertain any sort of relationship with him. It wouldn’t be fair. 

But it was just an act of service. It didn’t mean much, right?

“Oh, that’s nice,” you said, resting your head on the bed. You felt a bit off allowing a random man to do this to you, but he wasn’t random now, was he? He had saved you. And besides, he was he who insisted he rub the lotion in the first place.

“What is the future like?” William asked. “Is there another war?”

“Sort of. Not really,” you answered, which panicked William. “Don’t worry. If you’re talking about America and Russia, no one dies.”

William chuckled. “I should hope not. I don’t fancy serving in another world war.”

“You served?” you asked curiously. 

“Yes. As a captain in the British Army.”

You supposed it was normal. Most men in this time either signed up for the military or were drafted. You couldn’t imagine the horrors William must have gone through. You would never be able to understand the trauma he carried with him. You were curious, but you knew better than to ask. He didn’t need your pity, and you certainly didn’t want to offend him.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

“For what?”

“That it had to happen. War and all that.”

“Does war not happen in the future?”

Now you felt a little stupid.

“Well — yes. It does. I’m just sorry. We learned about the world wars in history — and I just — I’m not claiming to know anything. Yeah, sorry.” You looked down.

William didn’t say anything to that. He just kept rubbing your dry skin. Afterward, he put the lotion away and sat next to you, running his fingers through your hair.

“I expect stories from you. I want to hear everything about the future.” 

You still didn’t believe you were in the past, at least, not completely.

 “You can tell me as we pass through town,” he added.

“I need to wash my clothes first.”

Willian narrowed his eyes. “You’re not going to wear that anymore.”

“Why not?”

He pursed his lips. “It’s too revealing. A woman should never go out wearing those types of clothing.” He sighed. “Perhaps it’s different in the future, but here, you’ll get hurt if you dress like that.” He continued playing with your hair. “I want you to be safe. So, you have to promise me that you’ll stay by my side at all times, yes?”

You nodded. You always thought that if you caught men talking to you like this, you would slap them, but here you were, turned on by William’s sexism. It was different, you reasoned. He was more focused on protecting you than restricting you. Was it bad that you found that hot?

“Good girl,” he said proudly. “Good girl.”

+++

Walking through town had been more of a frightening experience than you expected. You realized, without a shadow of a doubt, that you were indeed in the past. Producing a prank with this level of investment and money was pointless, and you never had any mental issues in the past, so why would one suddenly show up now? And even if it did, you couldn’t possibly be imagining this all in your head. 

All the cars were shiny and new, yet old models, ones that wouldn’t be produced in the future. All the women and men wore traditional clothing, like the dress William picked out for you. The hairstyles were medium-length and curled, or slicked back, with lots of gel and products used to keep them in place. You were grateful William didn’t ask you to do any of that. Not that you would have let him. At a certain point, you would have drawn a line.

“I have to get back,” you told William as you walked on a trail. “The machine has something to do with it. I just have to figure out how it works.”

“That’s an engineering job,” he pointed out.

“I’m good at math and science. I work in advanced technology, so I should be able to figure something out. All it needs is a bit of testing . . . I was wondering if I could stay with you for a while until I figure out a place to stay. I’ll give you all the money I have and I promise I’ll find a job — ”

“ — No need. Stay as long as you like. I don’t want your money. I won’t stop you from finding a job, but it’s not necessary. I can handle any expenses.”

You didn’t argue with him. He didn’t seem averse to the idea of letting a stranger stay at his place. It made sense. People in this time were more hospitable and open (at least, when they felt like it), and William, being a man from the forties, would never allow you to carry any of the financial burden.

You still felt a little bad. 

“Thank you. It means a lot to me. Now, what is it you want to hear about the future?”

William’s eyes lit up excitedly. “Do flying cars exist?”

You chuckled. “No. But we have self-driving ones.”

“Self-driving? How do they work?”

You paused. You had no idea. “I’m not sure. They probably have sensors to detect other cars. And, well, there’s a map. So it’s connected to a satellite . . .”

“Satellite?”

“It’s this thing in space. It does . . . stuff. It’s manmade.”

“Space? Have we discovered alien life?”

“No. But we have sent rovers to Mars and we’ve landed a person on the moon.”

William stopped walking. “The moon?” he repeated, bewildered. “Have you gone?”

I wish. “It’s only for astronauts. You have to be trained for that sort of stuff.”

“And when did this all happen?”

“Around the 1960s. There was a space race between America and Russia, and America won.”

Once you got the ball rolling, William would not stop asking questions. You answered them as best as you could and avoided topics like the current political climate and weaponry and all that. After he was done with all the serious stuff, like advancements in science and whether robots had taken over the world yet, he moved on to more social and cultural topics. You were relieved to find out that he wasn’t racist or homophobic or incredibly misogynistic. If anything he was rather tame about it all, and was glad that women had earned more rights, though he seemed upset that the dynamic of a gentlemanly husband and lady-like housewife wasn’t pushed upon society. 

“There’s nothing wrong with things going the opposite way around,” he had said. “Two people of the same gender marrying. It’s only that women need to be looked after, and if she doesn’t want to work, then it is her man’s obligation to do it for her. And in return, she must be obedient and serve him whenever he pleases — whether it’s by cleaning the house or . . . other things.”

“And what if she doesn’t want it?” you questioned, referring to the other things.

“A man should always make sure she likes it.”

You could practically feel all the feminism leaving your body at that.

The conversation ended when you reached back home (home? It’s not your home, you reminded yourself). William replaced your bandages with care. You were already starting to feel better, since the cut wasn’t too big, and you offered to help with cooking dinner this time.

After that, you decided to tinker with the box.

It was made out of some type of metal, with two different dials on the top and a button on the side. But it wasn’t like anything you’d ever seen before. The first dial went from zero to nine (zero being nulla) in Roman numerals, and had four hands, each of them colored in order: red, green, blue, and yellow. Respectively, there were four tiny colored knobs on the side, like the ones by a watch, where you could move each hand. The other dial was the same case.

“It must be the date,” you said aloud to yourself. “But which is which?”

Taking a gamble, you pressed the button, but it didn’t do anything. All it did was signal a small lens to start blinking red. 

“Are you sure you should do that now?” William asked, coming up from behind you. “Look at this.” He crouched to your level on the floor. “Your eyes have bags underneath them. You’re still tired.”

You rubbed the area beneath your eyes. Did they really have bags? You hadn’t realized.

“I should probably go to sleep then,” you said, putting the box down and getting up.

William walked you over to the bedroom, and was about to leave when you asked, “Where are you sleeping?”

“The couch.”

You frowned. “It’s your house and I’m your guest. You’ve already done so much for me – ”

“— If you’re going to suggest you sleep on the couch, then it’s a no. That’s final.”

“But — ”

“ — Final.”

You sighed. “Then come sleep with me. I’ll stay on the floor—”

“ — No—”

“ — Then we can share the bed. We’ll put a wall of pillows between us, like this.” You grabbed a pillow and placed it in the middle of the bed, separating the two sides. “Not so bad, see?”

William relented. “Alright.”

He crawled into bed with you. His hair fell over his face as he adjusted, and the last rays of sunlight coated his body in colors of orange and yellow. If your phone wasn’t dead, you would have asked him to sit still for a picture, because at this moment, he truly looked breathtaking. He was a beautiful man. You wondered if he knew it.

“What?” William asked when he noticed you staring.

Flustered, you turned your head to look up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I was just making sure you were comfy.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see William lick his lower lip. 

“You’re a sweet lass,” he commented. “You always think about others first.”

He reached over, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you (which, admittedly, despite having had a wet dream about him, scared you), but he only brushed a small speck of dust off your shoulders and murmured “Goodnight”, before burying his chin into the blanket and drifting off into sleep.

You followed in suit soon after. A part of you was hoping that you could start a life here. You’d buy a nice house and live out a simple and peaceful life. You and William didn’t even have to be romantically involved. You could just be friends, and you would be happy with that. 

But a part of you also hoped that when you woke up the next morning you would be back in your own bed, in your small one-story house that you remember being so excited about buying. You knew you would never like living here in the long term. There were too many things wrong with this time and you didn’t want to be the brunt of its issues. Not only that but being aware of all the tragedies that would soon occur . . . Did you want to be faced with the moral dilemma of whether or not you should stop them? How would your presence affect things in the future? After living your whole life in 2023, you could never adjust to life in 1946. 

You had to find a way back. There was simply no other choice. 

+++

William showed you many things. Just as he was interested in the future, you were interested in the past. The things that excited you most of all were old-school versions of what you had in the future. Washing machines, refrigerators — they were all so different, yet the same, and it was fascinating. 

You even met a few people in town. They were nice enough to hold a conversation with, though they found it weird that you lacked decorum and the social understanding of the time. The women were chatty and mildly passive-aggressive, and the men — well, the men flirted with you quite openly.

William had told people that you were family, someone related but not close enough to be bothered with technical terms like cousin or niece. No one asked questions when you two explained it like that. All the men must have thought that if you were his family and that if you had no ring on your finger you must be looking for a partner.

You were charmed by their advances, but never serious about them. Besides, William hardly let them get a word in before he shooed them away.

By the time weeks and weeks had passed you became acquainted with everyone, seen every sight to see — including the swan lake William took you to — and become close enough to William that he opened up to you. You learned that while he wasn’t an orphan, his parents never held much interest in him other than the occasional birthday letter, and the reason he came out here so far away from the city was to find peace of mind.

You grew to admire him, and you were sure he grew to admire you, too. And soon, you started to feel a certain type of way. A way that made you daydream about all the things that could be, only for reality to stomp across it and remind you of the harsh truth. 

+++

William was driving a car, a modern car, your car. He was humming a little tune on the radio, singing some lyrics, hands loosely holding the wheel as he passed by a gas station. It was some Taylor Swift song, and you remember faintly thinking: Of course, he likes Taylor Swift.

He looked over to you. You were sitting by his side, a passenger princess, looking out the window. All of a sudden it was night and you two were driving down a lonely road, parking by the side of some lake. In the distance, you could hear crickets and ribbits, but you paid them no mind.

You were curled up in William’s arms, looking out the sunroof of the car, the light of the moon gently descending through the glass. You offered him a piece of chocolate, and you two just sat there, in the dark, nibbling on snacks and observing the sky, until you woke up.  

+++

William had to leave for work, like usual. He again told you not to leave his property line or stray out too far, which, again, was fine by you because most days were cold and bitter.

You spent your time messing around with the box, careful not to touch the wires in the back. Once you put your mind to it, you figured out how it worked. You paid attention to where the hands were currently located and found something promising. The first dial’s hands had the numbers I, IX, IV, and VI, and the second dial was nulla, IX, nulla, and V. Alone, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what the numbers meant, but with context, you understood. The first dial was the year, and the second one was the month and date.

You didn’t quite understand how the box brought you from the future, but that didn’t matter, as it was broken. There was a little loose piece on the backside that had been damaged — a little dent, probably when you were first transported here. All you had to do was plug it back in, but the only problem was, you didn’t have a screwdriver, and you certainly weren’t going to wrench your fingers near a bunch of wires.

When William came back you told him your solution. He agreed and said that tomorrow he would take you to a local store to buy a screwdriver, and he even apologized for not having one in his house. But for now, he said he wanted to take you out to lunch.

“Lunch?” you questioned nervously. Was he asking you out on a date?

You thought about it for a moment. You did want to go, but your mind was too preoccupied with getting back to your time. Besides, it wasn’t fair to him. You did like him, but you two could never actually be together. It was all in your head.

It’s all in your head.

“You know I’ll have to go back someday,” you said, watching William’s expression become more neutral as if he was hiding his emotions. “I dunno . . . I’m getting a little attached to you,” you said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood.

William seemed to understand where you were going with this. “It won’t be like that. I wouldn’t blame you,” he said earnestly, taking a step forward. “We ought to enjoy our time together, while it’s still here.”

He made a valid point, enough to convince you. He had been doing that an awful lot. Convincing you. 

William took you out to a nice restaurant. The food was a bit plain, but it was good and wholesome. It reminded you a lot of William’s cooking, only fancier and more well-presented. Not only that, but the atmosphere felt calming and almost romantic. You noticed that most of the people here were couples, holding hands and giggling with each other, however young or old.

Was this William’s intention? Did he like like you? Or was this just him being courteous? You couldn’t imagine that many people here were used to dating or one-night stands. But you wouldn’t know unless you asked him, and you were too nervous to do that. Besides, you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. William was a very traditional man, would he even want a woman like you? A 21st-century girl?

After you two were finished eating you engaged in another walk. 

“Come closer,” William said, holding out his arm for you to take. If you didn’t have any self-control, you would have jumped his bones right then and there. He was right. He was a gentleman. No man in the future would have done this for you unless they were trying to make a joke out of it.

You placed your hand on William’s arm hesitantly, trying to figure out the exact placement, walking side by side with him. It was a little cold, however, and you shivered, catching William’s attention almost instantly.

“Oh, you poor thing,” William cooed, talking of his coat and wrapping it around you. It smelled of him, a little musky, smoky like a cigarette, but in a very subtle way. “You’re so nervous. Have you never had a man do this for you?” he asked. “Hold out his arm for you to take, give you his coat?”

“No,” you admitted. “Men don’t do that in the future.”

“I do,” he said, stopping both of you in your tracks. The area was secluded, mostly covered in trees and bushes, far away from any passerby. “I would do that for my woman.”

It was quiet for a moment.

“Well,” you said, wistfully, “whoever she is she’ll be a lucky woman.”

+++

William took you to a local shop to buy a screwdriver next. It all felt very domestic, something that you could get used to. You imagined running errands like this with William in the future. He would be absolutely fascinated by a grocery store, by the internet, by everything. If you thought hard, you could see it — a wondrous smile on his face, a giggle escaping his lips. 

You tried not to think of it that much. After your fantasy passed your thoughts turned sad and cold, because you knew that would never happen. It will never happen. As much as you liked William, you missed your family, you missed your house, you missed everything.

When you both got back home, you plugged the broken piece in and screwed the nail. William watched on beside you, a frown on his face, drinking some tea.

“Here,” he said, inching closer, “I don’t want you exerting pressure on your arm. Let me do it.”

He grabbed a hold of the screwdriver, but he bumped into you in the process. With a gasp, he dropped his cup of tea. It shattered across the floor, glass pieces flying every, hot liquid (thankfully not boiling) splashing all over. You shrieked and backed away, watching as one of the glass shards cut right through one of the wires.

“William!” you snapped, but then your eyes turned watery, because of the cut on your hand.

He immediately went over to you, careful not to step on any glass, and picked you up bridal style, moving you away from the mess and towards the couch. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, looking panicked. “It was an honest mistake — I’m so so sorry, I can’t believe I just did that — are you hurt?”

You laughed at the absurdity of it all, even though you were clutching your finger in pain. It was a very small cut, something that would be healed within a day. “Calm down, William. I’m fine. Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, looking worried, or perhaps, scared was the right word. Yet, you couldn’t figure out why.

“William,” you said slowly. “It’s fine. You do realize we can just fix the wire? I just need a heat-shrinking tube and a soldering iron, nothing I haven’t done before.”

“. . . Oh.”

His tone made you wonder about his intentions. You’d been so caught up on how good of a person he was, helping you and giving you room and food, but really, what was his motive? Because it almost felt like he was trying to get you to stay . . . It sent a sinister feeling down your spine, albeit a tug on your heartstrings as well.

What do you want from me, William? What do you want?

+++

More time had passed. It was difficult to acquire things in this small town, and it occurred to you that such resources were not readily available at this time. You didn’t want to bother William by pestering him to go into the city for materials, so while you would bring up the topic every once in a while, you mostly kept quiet.

You took the chance to relish your break. After all, you weren’t working. It was like a fully paid vacation, so you might as well take advantage of it.

William still had a job, but when he came back, you two would just talk and talk and talk, conversations so smoothly flowing that it felt like you’d known him for years. When you weren’t talking, you were still in each other’s presence, doing your own thing. Occasionally, William would make sneaky moves like wrap his arm around your shoulder, or do the la bise. He claimed he was part French, and it was part of his custom, but even if that were true, you knew the la bise didn’t involve full-on smooches on the cheek.

You never stopped him from doing things like that, but you also never reciprocated, despite how badly you wanted to. All this stalling wouldn’t change the fact that you still had to leave. Not only that, but you were starting to feel homesick. 

You missed calling your friends late at night, you missed watching colored TV, and you missed hot showers. You missed easy-access painkillers for your periods, and searching all your queries on the internet. You missed the future. Badly. And you could just feel that the day of return was near.

+++

“You dance, yes?”

Snapped out of your thoughts, you turned to William. You were both lounging on his couch, relaxing, talking, as the time passed by. He had given you a magazine to read, but you weren’t reading it, just dozing off.

You shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve gone to clubs. But — no, I can’t dance like that — William,” you whined, half-heartedly struggling as he pulled you up to you feet. “I’m going to ruin it, I don’t know where to place my feet or — ”

“ — You could never ruin anything, darling. Your presence alone is enough to satisfy me.” 

You looked away. “You can’t say things like that, William.”

“Why not?”

You took his hands off you before he could even start the music. 

“I don’t like it,” you lied.

William frowned. “That’s alright. Let me hold you. I know you enjoy that.” He chuckled. “When we first met you wouldn’t let go of me.”

The memory, still fresh in your mind, made you flustered. 

“. . . William, what do you want from me?” you decided to ask.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean — what do you want from me?”

William licked his lower lip. “Nothing. I just want to take care of you.”

“But why?”

You could practically feel William’s nervousness. It was like when he dropped that glass. He radiated an almost jumbled energy, a desperate energy.

“Haven’t I made it more obvious?” he finally said, his hands on your waist. He brought his fingers up to brush the hair out of your face. “Am I not clear?”

You knew what he was going to say. But you wanted to hear it from him. “Clear about what?”

“I want you.” Your heart started beating. “I don’t care if you’re not from this time. I don’t care if you have a life in the future — I can be better. I can be your life.”

“. . . William.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he said, tilting your chin up so you could look him in the eyes. “I know you want me too. I can see it.”

“But we can’t,” you weakly protested.

“So is this what you do?” His tone grew more sharp. “Imagine things in your head and never act on them?”

You stayed silent. He was putting you in such a difficult position, couldn’t he see that?

“What’s wrong?” he continued. “Am I not good enough?”

“William,” you tried to pull away. “I have to go — ”

He locked you in his arms. Your body was so close your noses were brushing up against each other, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Maybe you’re worried I can’t please you right.”

You could have shouted. Why was he being so forceful? You ignored the way your body grew warm — you couldn’t do this. You couldn’t and so you wouldn’t. 

“I don’t want it,” you lied again.

“Well, I told you, a wife should always submit to her husband’s desires.”

“We’re not married!”

“We will be.”

You froze.

William took your silence as an opportunity. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, turning his head slightly as his hand rested on the back of your head. You were caught off guard but didn’t try to push away. It felt so nice, and warm and inviting. Why you were denying yourself this? Why were you denying yourself love?

When your lips parted, a string of saliva connecting you both, you placed your hands on his chest. You had an idea. A brilliant idea. Why hadn’t you thought of this before? “William. I still have to go, but — ”

He growled and lifted you up, carrying you over to his bedroom, tossing you onto the bed, and pinning you down on the mattress. “No. I won’t let you. I won’t let you! Don’t you understand? I’m perfect for you — I can — I can.” He looked miserable. In fact, he looked like he was about to cry. “Let me show you,” he said, determined. He started unbuckling his belt with one hand. “Let me show you what I can do.”

You hadn’t realized how hard William was, but when he finally took out his cock — fat and pale, with pre-cum leaking at the tip, his balls a little hairy, you gulped, the area between your legs getting wetter.

“Take off your panties,” he ordered. “And lift up that damn dress.”

You didn’t. To be honest, you were a little frightened by his behavior.

William sighed and did it for you, spreading your legs apart, only for you to shut them close. “You don’t even have a condom!”

“I’ll put out,” he said impatiently, forcing your legs apart again. You gasped, not expecting contact to be made so soon.

He rubbed his cock against your wet cunt, soaking himself. He had this satisfied smile on his face, eyes closed for just a moment, before he looked down at you. 

“I thought I’d have to warm you up a little,” he said. “You’re beau — stop it! Don’t struggle.”

He held your arms down as you writhed. “Please, William — I believe you,” you said. “You can fuck me good. Just listen — ”

William shook his head. “You’re the one who's supposed to listen. Listen and take it.”

With that, he pushed his cock in and started thrusting, hard and fast, your hands still pinned, his face contorted in pleasure. His moans were loud and shameless. He had his head right above yours, peppering small kisses on your lips. You tried to ignore how good it felt — him inside of you, but it was becoming increasingly difficult by the moment. 

“Ah, I knew you weren’t a virgin,” he said, noticing the lack of blood or discomfort. “That’s okay — I still love you.”

“Love?” you repeated, trying to focus, but your abilities were lost when he used his thumb to rub your clit. “Wa-a-it!”

“Don’t say that,” William said, his tone surprisingly soft given how rough his movements were. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought you didn’t want it. Just enjoy. Enjoy me.”

The bed was starting to creak, moving back and forth, rubbing up against the wood floor. Your breasts were bouncing, catching William’s eyes every once in a while. His cock slid in and out of you with precision, hitting that swollen part inside of you every time. His thumb on your clit only added to the intense sensation. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stopped struggling. You let your head hit the pillow, mouth parted, breathing heavy and hot. At the same time, you were overcome with a feeling of hurt. You couldn’t deny that you wanted it, but for him to take you so forcibly . . . and for you to actually like it . . .

“Are you alright?” he asked, slowing down his pace a little. He looked you in the eyes. “Do you feel good?”

You thought about lying, about crying out No, please stop!, but that wasn’t the truth, and in the end, your desires overcame you. “Y-yes. I want more.”

William relaxed, and his grip on you loosened. He placed one hand on your hip, the other by the side of your head. 

“You’re beautiful,” he praised. “Every day I look at you and think of how grateful I am that I found you. Laying there in that field, little flowers around you. An angel. My angel.”

You wanted to tell him how grateful you were, too. That it was him who took you in and not someone else, but the words never came out, only sighs and moans, but he seemed to understand what you were trying to say. 

Another kiss.

“You’re soaking me. You’re soaking the sheets.”

A little embarrassed, you turned your head. “M’sorry.”

William forced you to look back at him. “Don’t be sorry. I like knowing how eager you are for me.” 

Another kiss, but this time he slipped his tongue in, sweeping against yours before he pulled away, a string of saliva breaking as he did.

“We’ll live here,” he continued, his thrusts becoming more erratic, “in this house. Together. I’ll take you to the movies, we’ll have picnics in the garden, and I’ll write you love songs on the piano. We’ll have children — a girl, I hope — and she’ll look just like you. It’ll be wonderful,” he promised. “I’ll make you so happy, and you’ll make me happy, too.”

You couldn’t help but ruin the moment. “If I did that I would never see my parents again.”

He frowned and didn’t say anything. Then, “I think you’re getting agitated. You need to come, that’s it. You need to come and then you’ll finally understand what it is you’ll be missing out on if you leave.”

“T-that’s not the point — ”

“ — I’m so close,” he murmured. “Fill you up, so damn tight. Ah, you’re perfect.”

When you realized what he meant your eyes widened and you shook your head adamantly. “You said you’d pull out!”

“That was before. I’ve changed my mind.”

You felt familiar pressure build up inside of you. You could imagine yourself, breasts big with milk, belly round and smooth, William reading children’s books to your unborn baby as if he could be heard. The thought alone made you sickly sweet, the idea that life between you and him could be so domestic.

But couldn’t he just wait for a moment?

“I’ll — ah — be with you — every step of the way,” he grunted. “I won’t leave you. So, don’t be scared.”

“William,” you said shakily. “Just listen — ”

But it was too late. Collapsing on top of you, William poured his hot seed inside your cunt, his whimper addicting, like it was something you could hear a thousand times over. A few seconds later, you fell victim to the same fate, and there you two lay, with each other, chests heaving, bodies sweaty and sticky, coming down from the heights of ecstasy. 

You could feel his heart pound against yours. Thump, thump, thump. And you could feel yours as well. To think that this man had just gotten you pregnant. It all happened so quickly. It happened so quickly and you were completely fine with it.

“William,” you said after finally catching your breath, turning to face him. “You know I still have to go.”

It was his turn to cry. His tears watered up, glassy, his lower lip trembling, but you could tell he was doing his best to keep it in. “But I love you,” he whispered. “Am I not enough?”

It broke your heart to see him like this. So vulnerable in front of you. It was then you knew you were making the right choice, a hundred percent. You had finally found your match. And to think that you almost let him go . . . 

“But I want you to come with me,” you said, hopeful. “Come with me, William. Come with me to the future.”

Taglist: @henrywintersdearestgirl @shroombloom-rry @meetmeatyourworst @mrkdvidal1989 @madnessandobsession @slut4thebroken @qqquartz7 @madeinuk

[fuckingyrs]

The sound of a body throwing itself onto one of the infirmary cots echoed through the mostly empty room, followed closely behind with a dramatic, but melodic sigh. “Can I say something mean?” 

“Probably not in front of the baby.”

Will groaned, looking up from his pile of patient reports he had been sorting for the past… year. “I hardly think eleven still counts as being a baby.”

Lee, who had been refilling first aid kits for the past two hours, contemplated this for a moment. “Maybe, but that’s besides the point. I’m six years older than you. You’ll always be a baby.”

“I’m going to say something mean. Will, cover your ears.”

“I’m not covering my ears, Taylor. Unlike you, I’m working right now and I need my hands.”

“Oh,” Taylor dragged, a taunt evident in her voice, "someone's grumpy.”

“He’s mad I put him on infirmary duty during arts and crafts.”

“Will, you aren’t good at arts and crafts.” Lee slapped her arm. “And you like working in the infirmary, you are constantly taking my shifts. It’s why I love you.”

Lee slapped her arm again. “Taylor, what the heck.”

Taylor groaned, “Fuck. Just say fuck. I’m begging you.”

“That’s besides the point. I had it with Cecil. We were going to finish our board game.” Will turned to Lee, pointing an accusing finger at him, “You knew this.”

Lee let out a long-suffering sigh and Will almost felt bad for causing a fuss, but really, Lee brought this upon himself. “Taylor, stop pawning off your shifts to Will. Will, stop letting Taylor’s pawn off her shifts to you. Also: I’m sorry about arts and crafts. The last few days have been hectic and I needed your help. I’ll make sure to not schedule you over arts and crafts next week.”

“I’m going to be home next week! Mama is picking me up, remember?”

Lee had the decency to look ashamed when he said, “Heck. I forgot. I’m sorry, Will.”

Taylor got up from her self-designated cot and walked over to Will, ruffling his hair once she was close enough. “I’ll take over the rest of your shift, buddy. You go have fun.”

Will shook his head, “No, it’s okay. I’m already here. Arts and crafts is half-way done anyway. We wouldn’t be able to finish.”

“If you’re sure,” Taylor sighed as she pressed a kiss to his forehead and Will let out a cry of protest because he could feel the lipstick stain there. He tried rubbing it away with his fingers but by the look on Lee’s face and the snickers Taylor was making behind him, he only made it worse.

Lee graciously handed Will a wipe before glaring at their sister. “Taylor, what are you even doing here?”

“I think I made that pretty obvious when I threw myself onto a bed and stated I was gonna say something mean. I came to gossip.”

“You should be at archery right now.”

“Mike was being a piss-baby. He wouldn’t let Josh and I try to hit one another. What’s the point of being in advanced archery if you can’t shoot at your brother? Moving targets!”

“So you left?”

“Yep. I found Silena and she offered to do my nails before I came by.”

Lee pinched the bridge of his nose in a way that resembled an old man at the end of his rope. Will suppressed a giggle at his brother’s anguish as Lee said, “You can’t do that.”

“Do what? My nails?”

“Leave Michael like that.”

“Why? He’s not in charge of me.”

“But I am. And he’s my second in command, so yes he is.”

Taylor groaned, flopping back onto her cot. “One, he’s like three weeks older than me, unfair. And two, none of that is important right now. What is important is that our father was here and didn’t say hi to any of us. Who does that?”

“Our father, apparently.”

Taylor flipped Lee off, showing off her new manicure. It was baby pink, like her lipstick, with a little sun in the center. “He gives those kids a ride, none of them his, and has the audacity to leave before saying hi? Hell, Will over here has never met him. He has time to bring a group of kids to camp, but can’t spare a lousy minute to check in on us? And I can’t say this to Michael or he’ll claim I’m “on the other side”.” Taylor sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. Will had only seen this look on her face a few times before: every time Luke was mentioned. “I’m just tired of feeling abandoned and I’m sick of feeling like it’s bad to think that.”

Lee stepped towards her, a soft, “Tay–” passing through his lips, before she sat up and shook herself out of her stupor.

“Instead of saying hi, he just causes chaos and disappears! He brings Percy back, which is never a good sign. Thalia is driving the sun chariot, and crashes it! Oh, and he brought that new weird kid that keeps bombarding everyone with questions.”

Will saw through the change of topic, and Lee clearly had to as well, but he allowed it to happen. He slapped her on the arm for the third time, “He’s not weird. He’s, like, eight. The kid is just excited. You were excited about camp once upon a time.”

Taylor turned to Will, jerking her head at Lee, “I think he’s finally lost it. When have I ever been excited by anything ever?”

Will grinned, “Yesterday, you beat Madi at Josh’s song quiz and you danced around the cabin for ten minutes.”

Taylor gasped loud and dramatic, clutching at her chest as she fell back onto her cot, chestnut hair falling all over her face in her fall. “William! How dare you accuse me of such things!”

[jaybirdie421]

The freaky scenes from ch 41 👀 pov: I’ve never drawn skeletons kissing 💀

[viesantewrites]

𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑.

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x fem Reader

previous chapter first chapter

note: This is the final part of this mini series :) This story is set in May 1936, William is about 27 and it takes place years before the actual movie.

summary: William Killick takes a break from his London life and spends a few weeks at the country estate of the wealthy Hallward family. The family take an instant liking to William and try to get him to marry their beautiful daughter Norma. Also on the estate is the reader, who works as a maid. When William receives anonymous poems, he ends up falling in love with the mysterious writer instead of Norma.

word count: about 2500

Masterlist

There weren't many days left for William at the estate, and he tried to push it away every time it came up. He looked forward to London, to his friends, his family, his work, but he knew how much he would miss the Scottish Highlands. And there was also one person he would miss terribly. But for some reason she seemed to be avoiding him now.

Every time William saw YN in the garden or in the house, he tried to talk to her, but as soon as she noticed him, she would talk to one of the other guests or pretend to be busy with her work. It almost broke William's heart. Was she angry with him? He kept trying to remember if he had done or said anything in the last few days that she might have misunderstood, but he couldn't think of anything. He was also not receiving any more of the wonderful, mysterious letters he had loved, which made him particularly sad. He was now one hundred percent sure that they were from YN. He had seen her write a shopping list once and leave it on the table in the dining room. It was unmistakably the same handwriting as the letters he had received.

One thing was clear to William: he wanted to talk to her, clear up the situation and apologise for whatever he had done wrong.

The warm sun shone on his skin as he walked through the rose garden one morning. It hadn't rained for days and he knew he would find YN here, as she must have been busy. A small smile spread across his face when he actually saw YN a few metres in front of him. She was wearing a dark blue skirt and apron and was busy watering the flowers and cutting off the old, wilted blooms.

William was about to call out to her when a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around him from behind. "William, my darling! There you are!" Startled, William turned to see the face in front of him. It was Norma, of course. Today she was wearing an elegant green summer dress with a matching hat, dark red lipstick, and on her wrist, as always, a small gold watch. Norma nestled happily against William's back, giggling softly. Mrs Hallward stood beside them, watching them with a touched smile.

But William noticed out of the corner of his eye that YN was watching them too, and finally she grabbed the bucket of withered flowers and walked away.

Sighing, he turned to Norma and forced a smile. "Do you have anything special planned, or why are you dressed so nicely?"

Norma looked at him briefly with raised eyebrows, then giggled again. "I'm always dressed nicely. Only for you, honey." She gave him a little kiss on the cheek.

"I'm so glad you two get along so well. I've always told Norma that one day she would meet a man who would be perfect for her." Mrs Hallward looked at them excitedly.

William shook his head and took a deep breath: "Madam, I have something to tell you, I..."

But he couldn't finish his sentence as Norma excitedly pointed to one of the beautiful and well-tended rose bushes. "They're so gorgeous! Shouldn't we take a picture in front of them? William, you've got a camera, haven't you?"

"Yes, I do..."

"Oh, that's a really good idea! I can take a picture of you!" Norma's mother said as excitedly as her daughter.

William sighed softly, took his camera out of his pocket and handed it to Mrs Hallward. She held it up to her face and shouted, "Smile, please!"

Norma quickly grabbed William's arm and leaned against his chest as she smiled into the camera. William pretended to be as happy as she was, although he was far from it.

***

Evening fell over the country inn, bringing with it thick, dark clouds, and thunder was not long in coming. YN was in the dining room setting the tables when she hurried to the windows to close them, just in time before a downpour began.

The door swung open and two people rushed into the hall, both soaking wet from the rain. It was William and Norma, who had probably spent the day together in Tobermory. YN had to grin a bit as the usually perfect Norma looked as if she had fallen off the Titanic and swum across the Atlantic. Her hair was dripping wet, blonde strands clinging to her face, her make-up smudged, making her look like a clown, and her face distorted from crying. William stood next to her, no less wet but much more relaxed.

"My new dress! It's ruined!"

"You can wash it," YN said quietly as she put the cutlery on the table.

Norma looked at her angrily. "You can’t just wash it, it was so expensive, you’re stupid!"

"My God, are you two alright?" Mrs Hallward, attracted by the noise, also hurried into the hall and looked at them worriedly.

"I look terrible!" Norma cried, clinging to William who seemed visibly uncomfortable with the whole situation.

"You two should go upstairs and change immediately. If you need more towels, please let me know," Mrs Hallward said calmly.

"Thanks, I wouldn't have thought of that myself!" Norma said sarcastically, then turned and stormed upstairs to her room in tears. YN shook her head in disbelief.

William, however, remained standing there, his hands in his wet pockets, looking somewhat embarrassed.

"And you, sea monster, don't you want to change into something dry too?" YN said with a grin.

William chuckled slightly and looked at her. "I think you're right." He ran a hand through his wet hair. "But I wanted to ask you something…For a while now."

YN tilted her head slightly and folded her arms across her chest.

"And what would that be?"

But William didn't get a chance to tell her his concern because he was interrupted by Norma's loud voice echoing down the corridor.

"You little minx!" With a face contorted in anger, she ran into the hall in a dry dress, pointing at YN.

Confused, she looked at Norma with her mouth open.

"You know exactly what I mean, admit that you stole it from me!" Her eyes glared at her angrily.

"What?" YN's hands began to tremble, her heart pounding.

Now Mrs Hallward turned to them again, bewildered, and stood beside her daughter confused. "Norma, what happened?"

"My gold watch, she stole it! She knew how expensive it was. I wear it every day, but this morning I left it on my bedside table and YN must have taken her chance!"

Mrs Hallward and William looked at YN in disbelief.

"I didn't do it, I swear!

"Oh really? Who else has access to my room? Who else cleans up for me in the morning?"

YN felt hot and cold. She knew she couldn't get out of this situation, even though she hadn't done it. All the evidence pointed to her.

For a moment there was complete silence in the room, except for the sound of heavy rain pounding on the roof. Then Mrs Hallward turned to YN with a serious look on her face. "You know that theft is a crime and I will not tolerate it here, especially against my own daughter. I'll give you until tomorrow to either admit what you've done and return Norma's watch, or I'll be forced to dismiss you and call the police. If you really didn't do it, I want proof to the contrary."

The words hit YN like a slap in the face. Tears started to burn in her eyes. She knew she didn't do it, but how could she ever prove it? She had no choice but to nod silently, wipe away the tears and finally leave the room without another word.

William watched her in bewilderment. He couldn't believe what was happening.

"Unbelievable! Such a liar!" Norma collapsed onto a chair, exhausted.

"I can't believe YN would do such a thing. I've known her for so long and she's always been so honest and upright." Mrs Hallward looked worriedly at her daughter and William.

Norma sighed. "She is unpredictable, Mother, believe me. The last time I saw the watch was before breakfast this morning and now it’s gone. William, darling, I've got a stiff neck, wouldn't you like to give me a little massage?"

But William just stood there motionless, his mind beginning to work. The last time she saw the watch was before breakfast?

Finally he shook his head and bit his lip. "That's not true, Norma. You wore it in the rose garden this early afternoon. I'm absolutely sure."

Confused, Norma looked at him. "No, that's not true."

For a moment William stood still, looking back and forth between Norma and her mother. "Excuse me, please," he finally said, and hurried out of the room without further explanation.

He quickly threw on his raincoat, grabbed his umbrella and set off alone for Tobermory.

Out of breath, he pushed open the door to the store and took off the hood of his raincoat.

"How can I help you, sir? Oh wait, weren't you here this morning?" A small man with a grey beard stood behind the counter and looked at him curiously.

"That's right, I brought my camera in earlier. I'd like to have the photos now."

The older man shook his head slowly. "Young man, it's not that fast. I told you it would take one to four days to develop them."

William looked at him desperately. "But I need them now, please! It's really urgent!"

The man sighed softly. "Well, I'll see how far they've come." Groaning, he made his way to the back room, and William tapped his foot nervously on the floor.

"You're lucky, sir," the salesman's voice came from the back room. "They're pretty far along. Another two or three hours and they'll be ready."

A wave of gratitude washed over William. "Thank you, sir. I'll come back for them later. Are you open until then?"

"I'm always open when I'm not sleeping," the shopkeeper said, sitting down on an old wooden chair and crossing his thin legs.

***

Muffled voices came from the Hallwards' kitchen as William stood with his arms crossed late at night, listening intently. It was Norma and Mrs Hallward, engaged in a lively conversation about the events of the evening.

Finally, William gathered his courage and walked into the kitchen.

"William, my darling, what are you doing here so late?" Norma asked, smiling in surprise.

Without a word, William pulled a small envelope out of his coat pocket and threw it on the table.

"What's this?" Norma asked confusedly as she grabbed the envelope, opened it and pulled out the photograph that Mrs Hallward had taken of them that morning.

"You dirty little liar," William hissed angrily at Norma, who immediately looked shocked. She wasn't used to his tone. "Look what you are unmistakably wearing on your wrist in the photograph. Your beloved watch. We took the photo at half past 10. You were sure you hadn't worn it today and that YN had stolen it before breakfast. How is it possible that you're wearing it here?"

Norma looked at him in shock and couldn't say a word. William could see the sheer panic on her face. "She... she... she must have stolen it later, when we were in Tobermory. Exactly! I left it on my bedside table after we were in the Rose Garden!" Norma crossed her arms again with confidence.

Wordlessly, William reached for the green handbag beside Norma, opened it and emptied its contents onto the table.

"Are you insane!" Norma screamed in horror.

The small gold watch fell out with a soft clatter.

William looked at her angrily. "I saw it in your bag this afternoon when we were at your aunt's café and you took out your lipstick to touch it up.

Now it was Norma who fell silent, unable to utter a word.

"You were jealous of me and YN, admit it. You hated to see me with her. You spread false truths about me, that I couldn't stand her, and you wanted to get rid of her, so you claimed that she had stolen from you. You just couldn't accept that I love YN and not you." William looked at her sternly with his icy blue eyes.

Mrs Hallward, who had been watching the scene in silence, looked at her daughter incredulously. "Is that true, Norma?"

The young woman sat there sobbing, pressing her hands to her eyes as tears streamed down her face, and finally nodded slowly.

"Have you lost your mind, Norma? You will apologise to YN now!" Mrs Hallward shouted in a firm voice. William had never heard her speak to her daughter like that.

"It’s okay. I'll talk to YN, we'll discuss the rest tomorrow," William said quietly, nodding to Mrs Hallward. As he left the kitchen, the only sound he could hear was Norma's sobbing.

The loud rain pounded against the window as YN lay motionless in the darkness. Her mind had been going round and round for hours and she simply couldn't sleep. By now she had almost accepted that no one would believe her and that she would be fired from the country inn. But she wasn't going to let Norma win so easily.

Suddenly she heard soft footsteps outside her door and sat up in bed, curious. Who was it? Her heart pounding, she listened as something was pushed under her door, then the footsteps faded.

She quickly switched on her bedside lamp and got out of bed. There was a small white letter on her floor. With trembling fingers, she unfolded it and began to read.

𝑻𝒐 𝒀𝑵 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆

𝐷𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑌𝑁, 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼'𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑦.

𝐼𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑝𝑢𝑟𝑒,

𝐴𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑛𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡, 𝑦𝑒𝑡 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑢𝑟𝑒.

𝐴 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡𝘩, 𝑑𝑒𝑐𝑒𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙 𝑎𝑟𝑡,

𝐴𝑛𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑠𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡.

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑘𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑤𝘩𝑖𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟,

𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑟.

𝐼𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝘩𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡, 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑑,

𝑇𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑡𝘩 𝑟𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑑, 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑑.

𝑊𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝐼 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑓𝑒𝑠𝑠

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑚𝑦 𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠.

𝑷.𝑺. 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠. 𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑠𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑜𝑛, 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑑𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑒𝑑. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑏𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝘩𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑟.

𝑊𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑚.

𝑷.𝑷.𝑺. 𝑇𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑝𝑜𝑒𝑚 𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑛, 𝑠𝑜 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝘩𝑎𝑟𝑠𝘩 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒!

Tears of joy ran down YN's face as she read the letter. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever received in her life. With her heart pounding, she opened the door, ran down the stairs and saw William on his way to his own room.

"William!" she cried, out of breath, and ran towards him.

William looked at her with a big smile as she finally fell into his arms. He stroked her back gently.

"I don't know how you did it, but I'm incredibly grateful to you."

He laughed a little. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow."

Slowly, YN looked up at him, stood on tiptoe and finally kissed him. His lips were warm and soft, just as she had always imagined. Without hesitation, William kissed her back.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Thank you so much for reading this whole story, it was so much fun writing it ☺️ And thank you for the nice comments!

[viesanterieures]

𝐓𝐨 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏.

William Killick (The Edge of Love) x fem Reader

next chapter

note: This story is set in May 1936, William is about 27 and it takes place years before the actual movie.

summary: William Killick takes a break from his London life and spends a few weeks at the country estate of the wealthy Hallward family. The family take an instant liking to William and try to get him to marry their beautiful daughter Norma. Also on the estate is the reader, who works as a maid. When William receives anonymous poems, he ends up falling in love with the mysterious writer instead of Norma.

word count: 2000+

warnings: … none!

masterlist

"Excuse me sir, we've reached the end of the line." Yawning, William opened his eyes as he heard a voice behind him and stretched sleepily, curious to see who was speaking to him. A woman in a uniform with a dark skirt and matching hat stood beside him. "Are we there yet... What time is it?" he asked her. "It's just after half past seven, sir," the train attendant replied with a friendly smile. As William straightened up in his seat and then saw that the landscape before him had changed from the brown roofs of London to green hills and beautiful mountain scenery with small lakes. "My God... I must have slept for hours." The train attendant smiled at him kindly and wished him a good journey.

William felt the train slow down and grabbed his suitcase from the luggage rack. Once outside, he set it down on the floor and took a deep breath. The air smelled fresh and the wind blew through his hair. Although he had never been to this place before, he had the strange feeling that he belonged here. He closed his eyes for a moment. The orange light of the setting sun shone through his eyelids. The green hills of the Scottish Highlands stretched out before him, surrounded by a light mist. Green meadows, colourful flowers and streams dominated the landscape. The sky was cloudless and the air smelled of fresh moss. William could hardly look away. It was so different from London. The grass rustled softly under his shoes as he made his way to his accommodation for the next few weeks.

Curious, he looked up at the big building. It was built entirely of stone, with small windows adorned with red, ivy-covered shutters that glowed in the evening sun. William dragged his suitcase up the stairs that led to a wide wooden door. The muffled sound filled the silence as William knocked on the door. It opened with a squeak to reveal an older, very elegantly dressed lady with shoulder-length curly hair.

"Good evening, you must be our new guest, Mr Killick, aren't you?" Her voice sounded friendly and welcoming. "That’s right. And you must be Margaret Hallward, the owner of the estate," William replied. The lady nodded. "I am. Come in, you must have travelled a long way, sir." William followed her into the warm house. Mrs Hallward disappeared for a moment behind a wooden counter and handed William a key. "Room seven is yours. The dining room is in the ground floor and the common room is on the second floor. Breakfast is tomorrow from seven to half past eight. YN, would you be so kind as to accompany our guest to his room? And take some of his luggage."

"Of course, Mrs Hallward," a quiet voice sounded behind them, and William turned around curiously. In front of them stood a young woman in a red apron and white blouse. William smiled kindly at her. "No, wait, I can carry that," he interrupted her when she tried to take the suitcase off. Shrugging her shoulders, she finally gave up and told William to follow her. They walked along a corridor decorated with old paintings and photos of the country estate and stopped in front of a room door with the number 7.

"Thank you so much, Ma'am," he said, putting the room key in the lock. The young woman smiled and wished him a good night before disappearing without another word.

****

William had slept very well that night. It was probably because he was quite tired from the long journey. When he finally entered the dining room for breakfast, it was already quite full. He took an empty seat at a table where an elderly man was still sitting, reading a newspaper.

"Tea, sir?" It was the young woman again who had shown him his room yesterday. "Yes, thank you“, he said. "What was your name again?"

"YN," she said quietly, and poured some tea into a small cup.

"Beautiful name."

William could clearly see her cheeks turning slightly pink at the words. "Thank you, sir." But they were interrupted by Mrs Hallward, who approached the table with a big smile. "Good morning, Mr Killick! Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, Mrs Hallward," he replied. "I don't think I've slept as well as I did this morning for months. So I'm really going to enjoy my holiday."

"I'm glad to hear that." She laughed. "Oh, I'd like to introduce you to someone, wait a moment please " She turned to one of the tables and called out in a loud voice. "Norma! Will you come here, please?"

"Yes, Mother." Another woman joined them at the table, she was about a year or two younger than William. She had white-blonde hair, red lips and was wearing an elegant purple dress with ornate embroidery. She was very pretty, William realised.

"Mr Killick, this is my daughter Norma. She lives in Glasgow at the moment, but is here for a few weeks. She grew up at the country estate. If you like, she can show you around the neighbourhood and the town."

"It would be an honour. How about we meet outside the estate at three this afternoon?," Norma chuckled softly as she twirled a strand of her blonde hair between her fingers. William was very happy about the Hallward's hospitality and gratefully accepted the offer.

"But now we won't bother you any longer, Mr Killick. Enjoy your breakfast," Mrs Hallward said with a smile as she took Norma's arm and led her away from the table. As they walked, he heard them whispering to each other, catching bits of sentences like 'isn't he lovely' or 'he looks like a prince from a fairytale'.

Slowly, William turned in the direction where YN had last been, but she was gone.

***

William spent the morning in the garden of the country estate, sitting on one of the benches beneath a cherry tree. The weather was warm, and the birds chirped softly in the treetops. Eventually, he closed his book and stood up to return to the house. As he passed one of the large flower beds, he paused. He saw a person sitting there, gardening.

"Nice to see you again, Ms YN," he said kindly. She didn't seem to notice his arrival and flinched when she heard his voice behind her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," William apologised immediately. "It’s alright, sir," she said, turning her attention back to the bed.

"Call me William, please."

She immediately looked at him in surprise. She had never expected that. A gust of wind came up and brushed through William's dark hair, and his bright blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

"Shall I help you?" he asked her, pointing to the bucket of weeds. She immediately declined his offer. "No, William, you're here on holiday. Not to work." William shrugged. "Anything where I don't have to be in London is a holiday for me. I really love this city, it's my home. But sometimes I really need to go somewhere else." YN nodded briefly. "I've never been to London or any other big city. I imagine it's stressful."

He laughs and shrugs. "I can't deny that it's stressful sometimes." Slowly he knelt down beside her and began to pluck the weeds from the ground in front of him. "You don't have to do that," she said quickly. "It's okay," William replied quietly, continuing to work.

YN laughed. "This has never happened to me before. A guest helping me with my work. If Mrs Hallward finds out, she'll scold me." William smiled a little. "Tell her I did it voluntarily. "You already have enough work." When they were finished, the young woman smiled briefly, then took off her gloves, stood up and reached for the bucket. "I have to go now."

"Wait, don’t you want to stay here a bit longer?" William asked hastily.

"Sorry, I've still got a lot to do. But thank you for helping me, that was very kind of you." She waved goodbye to William and finally turned round. William looked at her for a moment, a bit disappointed. Then he glanced at his pocket watch and flinched. It was ten minutes past three, Norma was probably already waiting for him.

He quickly grabbed his book that was laying in the grass and hurried to the front gate. Norma was waiting there, her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him with raised eyebrows as he finally greeted her completely out of breath. "Sorry I'm late."

She finally smiled and said in a friendly voice, "It's okay." Her hair was pinned up in an elegant braid, her lipstick was the same colour as the new pastel pink dress she was wearing, and she carried a matching handbag.

"I was in the garden talking to YN. I must have lost track of time."

One of her blonde eyebrows immediately raised again and she looked at him as if he had just said something completely stupid. "You're talking to household staffs? They're working for us, it’s far below our class."

He looked at her, confused. "But why shouldn't I talk to her? She's really nice."

Norma stayed silent, grabbed his arm and pulled him along without a word. She led him through the Scottish Highlands, down a small forest path, until the roofs of houses appeared in the distance. This had to be Tobermory. The air smelled of salty sea and a fresh breeze as they walked along Tobermory's coastal road, lined with colourful houses. High mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks shrouded in a gentle mist. "Wow, it's beautiful!" marveled William.

"I know, right?" Norma replied giggling, taking his hand and pulling him towards a small café.

"My aunt works there," she said. "She makes the best cakes." They entered the café and sat down on a corner bench by a small window. "Norma, how lovely to see you again." A lady with bright red hair came up to them and pulled her niece into her arms, laughing. When she noticed William, she looked him over from head to toe, smiled and turned back to her niece. "And who is that handsome young man next to you? Did you meet him in Glasgow?" Norma shook her head, laughing. "No. He's a guest of Mother's. She asked me to show him around."

"Oh, how lovely. You know, Norma, it's time for you to get married. Can I bring you both some of my Dundee cake?" William frowned slightly when she mentioned marriage. Did the Hallwards already see him as their future son in law?

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the little café, William telling Norma about his home in London, his job, his family, and she seemed to be very interested. But William hadn't forgotten her nasty comment about YN. He was torn by Norma.

After they said goodbye that evening, William went to his room tired. In the corridor he saw Mrs Hallward talking excitedly to YN. "You forgot to fluff up the pillows in Room 9! How many times do I have to tell you?" she snapped at her in a harsh tone.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Hallward, I..." But she didn't let YN finish, because when she noticed William, she put on a big smile again: "Oh, Mr Killick, how nice to see you. Did you have a nice day with Norma?"

"Yes, I did, thank you for asking," he replied. He looked at YN, but she avoided his gaze, holding a white sheet in her arms.

"You know, Norma is still not married and we're looking for a suitable husband for her. Or do you already have a wife?" Mrs Hallward wanted to know. William shook his head slowly.

"She is such a beautiful young woman. But no man has ever met her standards. You're the first one she has shown interest in", the lady explained to him. "Come, YN, you need to get back to work now, the dishes need to be washed."

"Good night, William," YN said to him as he walked past, nodding to him.

"Good night," he replied.

As soon as he entered his room, he took off his jacket and shirt and yawned softly. He intended to read, but he was so tired that he just wanted to lie down in bed. Suddenly he heard something crunching under his feet and looked down in surprise. There was a small piece of white paper under his shoe. Someone must have slipped it through the gap under his door. He bent down and picked it up carefully. It was no bigger than William's hand, made of good quality and written in black ink.

Holding his breath, William began to read:

𝓣𝓸 𝓦𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓶 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ℐ𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒹𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒, 𝒶 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒶𝓃 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒷𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒.

𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀 𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒷𝓁𝓊𝑒 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒻𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒.

ℋ𝒾𝓈 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽, 𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓊𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒.

Confused, he turned the letter over in his hands. Was it from Norma? But she had been with him all afternoon, hadn't she? Who else was writing him poems?

****************************************************

Thank you so much for reading! If you want a part 2, let me know! 🖤

[impasta-wall]

“The ocean doesn’t change though right?”

His eyes were like the ocean, deep blue, broken in places by white froth, “just like the snow or the forests or the sun or the clouds and mostly the stars.” He raised his hands up motioning to the vast array of them in the sky, twinkling in the distance, blinking in and out of existence; the world so wide and for their taking even from the back yard they both shared now—a sense of awe washing over them both as they looked beyond.

He couldn’t help it but whisper, nearly seventy years late;

“The snow changed me.”

Steve looked back at him, same eyes, same hair. His hand comes up and gives Bucky’s shoulder a squeeze. Infinite understanding and a deep, deep longing.

“But we’re still here. That hasn’t changed right?”

I think a lot about how traumatic Bucky’s life has been so far, same with Cap, and I can’t help but shed a tear. In parts they are their own hope, it’s a little bit of codependency but it’s hard when there’s only one other person out there that understands you so carnally. It’s the shared experience of hope and loss and grief and love, romantic or platonic.

[vinelark]

hello good morning i read the fic The Long Way Home by itsnatalie this week and finished it at 1am and had to stare through the ceiling processing for another full hour having emotions over tim and jason and a sentient labyrinth and the concept of choosing kindness when it would be so much easier to choose cruelty at every turn and NOW i am stumbling back here to recommend it to everyone who might want a tim & jason (& batfam) psychological horror longfic that will knock your socks off

testimonials once i was semi-coherent (mild spoilers):

[mismatchedtwins]

Mismatched Twins - Take Four

“Tell me again why we can’t just teleport?”

The injured turtle clutches at Donnie as he leaps from one floating rock to another, face pressed against his shoulder at the sudden changes in gravity. Like any Leonardo predictably would, he’s doing his best to pretend that each jump isn’t affecting him. Donnie knows that the ribs pressed against his carapace have to be causing some discomfort, even if they do have a solid layer of plastron.

He keeps refusing Donnie’s offers to break, so Donnie presses on.

He’s only a few pounds heavier than April, probably due to the shell, but Donnie’s spent years dragging things around the lab, so he knows his endurance can last far longer than his body believes that it can. Though, it has been driving him nuts, that something about his physique has felt oh-so-remotely off since he… arrived in this prison, but he’s doing his best to think about important things.

Not the small fire burning his ankle or the nail in his shoulder every time Leon moves his arm even lightly. Things like, getting home to the brothers that watched him… transport away at April’s hands and who have probably written him off as dead.

He has to get home. They have to know he’s okay.

“Leonardo.”

Donnie grips the rock as he gets his footing, grateful for the strange pulls of gravity between the masses that occur in Dimension X and this strange, broken dimension. He doesn’t know how long he’s been moving, but the fluid jumps ease the burden.

“Ninpo… batt’ry low.” His companion sounds tired, but he’s still conscious, and that’s really want Donnie cares about. “Can’t re…charge. Need to pre…preserve it.”

“Inconvenient.” Donnie mutters as he finally locates a good area for a pit stop. “Stay with me, Leon. Just a few more bounds.”

“Not sleeping.” Leon mumbles. “Not…asleep.”

“Keep it that way.”

Donnie hurries his pace, only stopping when he stumbles and almost loses his balance. He takes a couple breathes, ignoring the fuzz in his peripheral. Leon notices and offers his continuous, halfhearted, “Put… medown. I can w…walk.”

“Don’t see much of a point.” He states cooly as he soldiers on, “We’re practically there.”

Leon shifts, “Where..?”

“Hopefully, a safe place for you to rest.”

“I don’t need-”

“I’m one word away from dropping you.” Donnie lies as he finally crosses the distance. “You’re not the only turtle who could use a break, you know.”

No snappy reply to that one. Donnie tries not to let that worry him.

He sticks the landing and then carries Leon across the homestretch. There’s a small enclosure a couple feet away, not big enough for two, but wide enough for one of them to curl up in. Theoretically.

Donnie kneels down next to it and the weight drops from his back.

He’s grateful to see an exhausted, but conscious turtle surveying him apprehensively. He looks to the side, face scrunching.

“You don’t expect me to crawl… ‘n there, do you?”

“Once I’m done with your check-up, yeah.” Donnie offers helpfully, pressing hands on both sides of his jaw and checking his pupils in the relative dark. “Because I’m going to look around and I don’t want you to be a sitting duck.”

The turtle yawns and digs his phone from his belt. It’s one of those shiny, smooth, compact phones that can do a million more things than Donnie’s glorified walk-in-talkies can do. Donnie tries not to ogle as he taps the function for the flashlight and then offers it.

He mutters a thanks and pretends like the random burst of jealousy never happened as he confirms that Leon’s pupils are behaving appropriately. He turns it off afterward upon seeing the battery was nearly halfway dead, certain that they should preserve it.

Leo doesn’t seem to share the same sentiment. Upon it’s return, he immediately opens an app to flick through it.

Donnie turns off his phone and pockets it.

He earns an indignant squawk and baps the hand that reaches out.

“Too much exposure to screen light awakens the brain.” He recites the private factoid that he has never once told his brothers ever for his own sanity. “I’ll give it back once you rest.”

“If you wanted to ditch me this much, you coulda done it back there.” Leon’s grin doesn’t reach his eyes, too laced in pained exhaustion. “Would’ave saved you some time.”

“You need a nap.” He scolds, trying not to think about how much he sounds like his own bossy brother. Oh, Leo. “And I need to confirm that we’re not going to starve here.”

“Dehydration’ll get us first.” Leon points out as Donnie moves on. That’s a morbid thought, but entirely accurate. “Not if I can help it.”

“You gonna pull water from rocks?”

“Don’t exactly have any godly powers on my side.” Donnie states wryly. “So I’ll have to make do with what I do have.”

“Which is…?”

“Science.”

“…Science.”

“Science.”

“What does that even…” Leon shakes his head. “You know what? Don’t care. Not napping.”

“And why not?”

“Cause you like jumping off cliffs for fun.” Leon pokes his face with a smirk. Donnie knocks the invasive hand away, pressing a finger to the vein in his neck. “Someone’s gotta keep you alive.”

Donnie huffs, shoving memories down when three other turtles told him a variety of the exact same thing. “I can take care of myself.”

“You jumped off a cliff.”

“Okay, technically, I only took a few steps.”

“You walked off a cliff.”

“I was testing a reasonable hypothesis.”

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm.” Leon nods patronizingly before he drawls, “Totally get that. And that’s why I’m here. To talk you out of testing dumb theories that could kill you, don’tr-”

He blinks, abruptly, body going stiff. Donnie furrows his brow at the strange slur of words, but lets him stew in his thoughts, appreciative of the new silence that comes with it.

“Okay, nap time.” Donnie proclaims when he decides that Leon isn’t going to die if his body shuts down for a bit. “We’ll keep moving once your body has recouped.”

“You really expect me to sleep here?” He eyes the hidey-hole like he expects it to turn out to be a monster’s mouth.

“Yep.”

Leon doesn’t move. Donnie scowls irritably.

“If you do not rest, you cannot heal.”

“Can and am.” Leon preens, waving a hand down his plastron. “This fine bod was made that way. Goat man says that my body’s always getting better even as I get worse.” His face blanches, “Hey, that sounds less complement-y than I remembered…”

Donnie attempts to process past the blatant ego. “Goat man..?”

“Y’know.” Leon rolls his hand. “Draxum.”

Donnie can’t fathom why this kid thinks he should know that name. “Maybe I should double-check for a concussion.”

“You telling me you’ve never heard of Draxum?” Leon gives him a funny look. “Mad scientist? Ooze wielder? Cafeteria lady? Dad-not-dad? Big part of the Mad Dog backstory?”

“See, now you’re just spitting out words.” Donnie grumbles as he cups his cheeks and lifts his head, more to annoy him than for medical analysis. “Hold still.”

Leon only waves his arms, words mashed like his face. “He t’rew me off a wroof!”

“That’s nice.” Donnie hums with a calculated condescension, smirking when his prisoner attempts to scowl. Leon shoves against his plastron and squirms free, indignant as Donnie releases him and holds up his hands in surrender. “It was awful, actually! It was a really tall building! Really tall!”

The high and whiney tint to his voice reminds him of when Mikey is in serious need of some feeling validation. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he gives him a more solmen nod instead. “Sounds it.”

He eyes him, suspicious. “I could have died. I would have!” His voice drops dramatically. “If Raph hadn’t caught me.”

“Raph catching Leos when they fall off tall buildings is a universal constant.” Donnie notes to show that he’s being very attentive. “This Draxum, scientist, lady, goat man, is not. Got it.”

Leon continues to give him the stink eye. Mikey usually complains a lot longer than this, so Donnie isn’t sure if it’s an appropriate time to move on to what really matters or not. “So…”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

Donnie stares at him. “Excuse me?”

“You want me to go to sleep. I want you to tell me a story.” Leon decides with a bright grin. “A really good one about these brothers that you won’t stop blabbing about.”

Donnie feels like he missed something. “…Why?”

“Limited time offer, guy. Take it or leave it.”

He hesitates. “And then you’ll sleep?”

Leo lays himself down and scoots into the mini cave. With little room left, he gets comfy on his plastron, “Bedtime story. Go!”

“Aren’t you fifteen or something…”

“Less questions, more story, aaaand go!”

“I feel kinda-”

“Guuuuy-”

“Fine!”

He smirks, chin happily settled on fist.

Donnie bites his lip.

“Here, I’ll help! Once upon a- now here’s where you start- tiiime…”

Hoping to shut the turtle up for five minutes, Donnie starts telling the least daunting, embarrassing, or traumatizing recent memory that he can recall: namely, that one time Stockman turned a bunch of bugs into mutants and started robbing banks, giving Donnie the chance to save the day with his harnesses.

Even if no one mentioned that bit.

Which wasn’t important. They all did their part.

Besides, they were really cool. Mikey reassured him of that.

“…And it turns out, Raph apparently learned some super secret phrase from Splinter to help him keep calm in the battle. It really ticked Leo off that he wouldn’t share it with him.”

He chuckles as he recalls his ‘older and maturer’ brother arriving into his lab to slam the door and pathetically snivel to him about it. “Raph was super smug about it until Splin-ter…”

He trails off and his smile fades when he catches the look on Leon’s face. It disappears as he faces away, stretching his arms with a dry smirk. “You are really good at that.”

“Oh, heh-?” Donnie rubs the back of his neck bashfully as heat crawls up it. Usually, it’s Mikey who gets attention for that sort of thing. “G-Good? At-?”

“Lying.” Any humor disappears. The heat drops down and burns in his chest. Donnie narrows his eyes. “I wasn’t lying.”

“Spoken like a true fibber.”

“You’re the one who asked me to-!” Donnie starts, hand at his chest, but Leon meets his gaze cooly. “I was waiting for you to slip up.”

“Slip UP?!”

“People usually do. Especially with a lie as detailed as this one.” He squints at him. “You’re almost as good as me.”

Donnie can’t believe the audacity. “What POINT would there be in lying to you?!”

“Make me eat up your sob story so I help you out.” Leon explains simply before he shrugs. “S’what I would do.”

“It is not a sob story, and I don’t need your help!” The blaze spreads, so he wrenches himself to his feet and stomps away. Leon calls after, “Don’t go jumping off any cliffs!”

His fists clench. “I DIDN’T JUMP!”

Donnie expects him to shout after or, shell, even transport beside him since he just admitted to being a liar, but he goes quiet. Donnie gives himself a few minutes to seethe before he drags himself back to his companion. Leon’s carapace is to the entrance, body tense.

Not sleeping. More than likely pouting.

Such a Leo move…

The sudden prodding ache reminds him of his mission.

Right. Back to worrying about important things.

He exhales and shakes off the invisible hand smashing in his chest. It gives some reprieve for him to focus, trying to dig up even the smallest facts that he knew about Mikey’s stories in Dimension X.

They had confirmed that Mikey had only been there several hours, which is good, because Donnie’d had plenty of trouble calming Leo’s irrational crisis over whether or not he was still the oldest. It was way too many hours wasted on an afternoon where he actually wanted to be sleeping. He’d never have made progress if the timeline had been expanded to months. If that had been the case, Leo would have had to fork over his big brother title, as degrading as that sounded.

Donnie can’t imagine what it would have been like to be separated from his family for that long.

Mikey had been all too eager to go into deep specifics about his time in Dimension X. Donnie forgot most of the unimportant things, but he’d estimated that Mikey’d eaten all his pizza reserves with the first hour or two there. Then he’d tried a variety of… Randomly described objects that ‘looked tasty’ before he’d settled on the Squeebles.

Supposedly, they’d had the texture of milkshakes, but not any definite flavor. They were yummy, boosted his “savageness,” and didn’t appear to have any negatives effects.

It would be good information to have if there was a single glimpse of life in this place at all. Is there even a working ecosystem?

He hasn’t even seen any boom rock trees or signs of the familiar silver bases. There didn’t seem to be much of anything. Not that he misses the Scatterpillars or elemental giants or Kraang worms.

Donnie shudders. Definitely not.

Then again, if the Kraang have access to cloaking domes, then what does that mean for these Krang?

Donnie sighs. He’s getting nowhere like this.

Mikey managed to explore and master miles of Kraang territory before they reached him. Sure, Mikey had his photographic memory, but there has to be a way to get similar results. There must be a way to replicate the kind of… Oh. Hm.

Donnie checks on Leon. He remains faced away.

Good. He stretches out his arms, cracking his knuckles. Might as well try. What does he have to lose?

….Other than every trace of his dignity and self-respect.

He exhales in a huff. Okay. Head in the game. Think Mikey.

What would Mikey do?

Or better yet, what would Savage Mikey do?

Climb anything climbable. Swing from anything swingable. Wander around touching absolutely everything that he doesn’t understand. Stick unidentified objects between his toes.

….Yeah, he’s not doing that last one.

Donnie starts walking. His first instinct is to just wander, but Mikey’s more of a moth-to-a-flame kinda of turtle. So he chooses the random piece of curved metal in the distance. He ignores the knee-jerk reaction to dismiss any action that he doesn’t understand, obeying the urge to climb up and leap-frog to the next hunk.

A hollow clang greets him on the fourth landing. Donnie lifts a hand to look at the silent print left behind, brushing away more of the grime that reveals a light pinkish color. He slides down immediately, moving to the next large structure and finding a similar hunk of charred metal. He traces the bottom, where metal merges with rock, and debates how it got there. The metal almost looks seared in by some kind of intense heat. Was it purposeful?

He peeks around it, curious eyes trailing to a high point up ahead; tall but thin metal sheet slotted sideways into the ground. He fires his grapple and launches up to it, pulling himself to a comfortable crouch. His new weight doesn’t budge it, so he stands.

There’s a massive crater taken out of the island. Whatever’s left of the missing spot must be floating in the atmosphere around it. The destruction is mesmerizing. Of course, whatever the history of this dimension was, Donnie gets the feeling that it was not pretty.

He wonders if the Krang knows what it is. Maybe those horrors are part of the reason that he was so furious Leon brought him back.

Donnie’s eyes lock on movement in the distance. His eyes widen with interest and, because it’s definitely something Mikey would look into, he slides down to the ground and takes off in a sprint.

He heads towards the landmark. It’s the only chuck of faded pink with black stripes, so it’s not hard to track. He trips at the spike of pain up his leg when he nears his destination. He ducks behind a smaller rock, down on one knee with a light hiss. He wouldn’t let Leon waste bandages on it when the bleeding had already stopped.

If only the pain would copy.

Rubbing the sore limb, he peeks around with round eyes.

There’s a… creature squeezing through the doorway. It has one foreleg and two hind legs, bright pink tentacle-looking appendages sprouting from its back. The rest of its body is also a color scheme of pinks and purples, a dull yellow eye on the leg underneath the clashing jaw. It appears stuck, wiggling and gurgling and straining to get through the minuscule opening.

Donnie lowers a hand to his belt, startled when he realizes that his t-phone is gone. He knows it’s the right pocket because of the extra padding. Only Leon’s remains. He searches every pocket, horror and fury tight over his chest. How?! When-?! Seriously!?

He’s been here all of five minutes and he’s already lost his t-phone?!

That’s what he gets for harnessing his inner Mikey.

He looks back to the creature. Its struggle is becoming weaker and weaker. It raises its head and makes a high sound, like it’s calling out.

Donnie feels a tug at his heart, but he’s not stupid. He waits until the fight leaves it and it slumps to the ground, panting and gurgling, before he stands up. The half-lided eye locks on him, tentacles turning in his direction, but he keeps a passive hand outstretched. “It’s okay, little… creepy. Alien? Thing. I’m a friend.”

The creature squirms. Donnie moves over to the metal, feeling over it, searching for a way to dislodge it from the ground. He finds a corner to stick his fingers and braces his foot against a spot that’s a different tint of metal. He tenses his posture and yanks.

He cries out as nonexistent barbwire locks down on his shoulder. His vision whites and his hands cut into the metal, but he stands his ground and it eventually gives way.

He falls down with it, heavy weight bumping against his knees before hitting the ground. He quickly runs shaky fingers over his shoulder, because with his current string of luck-

He exhales in relief. Not dislocated. Better keep it that way.

Just to confirm, Donnie rolls his shoulder. Immediate pain, but the joint feels stable and nothing is oddly tingling. He flexes his fingers, reaching his arm above his head. Again, pain, but there’s apt motion.

Positives.

He can work with this.

Donnie looks up. Behind the compact metal is a wide tunnel.

Donnie can’t tell how long it is because it descends into an impossible darkness pretty fast. The creature garners his attention when it shifts. It attempts to rise, only to crumble before it can get its footing, flickering eye shutting with a gurgle. The tentacles on its back flail with a lot more life than it seems to have, extending towards Donnie as he watches curiously.

“Oh man.” It doesn’t look hurt. Donnie stands to move closer, yet unsure if he intends to offer comfort or a medical examination.

Can he rightly complete an examination of a creature that he doesn’t grasp the biological make-up of? Would this be one of those times that Leo glares at him and warns about ‘boundaries’?

That usually has something to do with sentience. Interesting query.

How sentient is it? Only one way to find out.

“Are you okay?”

The creature doesn’t answer or even move. The tentacles continue stretching out, getting tangled in one another in futile attempts to get closer to him. It’s cute, in a grotesquely ugly kinda way.

He crouches and reaches out. “Hey, there. I-”

“NINJA SNATCH!”

It’s only Donnie training that allows him to dodge the swift grasp of this entire turtle chucked at him. He gets a glimpse of the shocked expression before he’s crashing into the wall. The turtle peels off like an old sticker and falls back in his carapace as Donnie stomps over, glaring down at him. “WHAT are you DOING here?!”

“Saving you.” He winces before pointing to Donnie’s leering figure. “And, your welcome.”

“Saving me from what?” Donnie gestures to the creature. “This half dead thing that’s in desperate need of help?”

“Yes.” Leon climbs to his feet with a grunt. “That, but say it again more heroically. And with gratitude.”

“I was perfectly fine-” Donnie indignantly turns to head back to the little guy, only to fall face-first when arms lock around his leg. He yelps as he goes down. “‘EY!”

“Don’t touch it!” Leon demands. “It’s evil!”

“It’s dying!” Donnie shoots back. “Helpless and weak and pathetic and would you let go of me!?”

“Not if you’re gonna TOUCH IT!”

If that turtle had been fifty percent less heavily injured, Donnie could have pulled a couple of unsportmanshiply moves that would have set him free. Unfortunately, he has a conscience. “If you insist, then I won’t touch it. Now will you let me go?”

Leo lets go. “No problema.”

“Big problema.” He mocks. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“We made a deal! I kept my end!”

“That does not sound like a deal I’d make, no.”

Donnie bites down a growl. How is this guy a Leo again?

“What do you say we get moving. Yes? Double yes? Oh, wow, Leo, you’re such a genius why didn’t I think of-”

“We can’t leave it.” Donnie looks at the creature. The tentacles are lying flat on its back, and Donnie can’t tell if it’s breathing. Was it breathing before? “It needs help.”

“If Krang wants his pet, he can come help him.”

“Pet?” Donnie repeats urgently. “That’s the Krang’s?”

“What did you think the tentacles were? Decoration?”

Donnie hesitates as his companion sits up. “Krang’s or not, we can’t just leave it to die.”

“What is with you?” Leon groans as if Donnie was being the unreasonable one here. “Do you want to become a mindless freak?!”

“Firstly, rude. Secondly, it’s not its fault it has different sentience!”

Leon pats his legs, expression bored. “Okay, there’s no way you don’t know about the Krang infection.”

“No! I don’t!” Donnie’s heart races. “What is a Krang infection?”

Leon narrows his eyes. “The Krang stick their tentacles in you and you transform into a zombie slave. Then those guys stick their tentacles in other people. Or rip them to shreds. They probably did it to most of New York. How did you miss that?”

“Because I wasn’t in your New York?!”

Leon only frowns at him. Donnie looks back at the creature. “So- so if I had touched that…”

“You’d be infected. And I’d probably have to kill you.”

Donnie stares at him. He doesn’t smile.

“So… Are you gonna kill it?”

Leon leans to the side to squint. “Seems kinda dead already.”

“Yeah.” Donnie admits quietly. He gets to his feet and goes over, careful to keep distance between him and the limp creature.

Leon trails after him and pulls out his sword to poke it. “What’s wrong with it?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t look injured.” Donnie’s hand goes to his belt again, only to come up empty. “Urgh, right, no t-phone.”

“T-phone? Is that what this is?”

Donnie’s head whips around. Leon tosses his t-phone in his hand. “What’s the T stand for?” He snickers. “Turtle?”

Donnie hurriedly swipes it back. He taps the screen, only to get greeted with a countdown. “You locked me out?!”

Leon shrugs carelessly. “I’m really bad at guessing passwords.”

“You-?!” Donnie spits out a frustration sound and spins to stomp away. He ends up inside the entrance, glaring at this surroundings. The heat fades as he approaches the wall.

Leon remains outside. “Um, guy? Where… You going?”

The wall is cool metal. The entire tunnel could very likely be man, er, Krang-made. The grim on his palms says that no one has been in there for a while. “It came out of here.”

“Sounds like a good reason to head the opposite direction.”

Leon has a point. But, would Savage Mikey head back?

The dark is making his skin crawl. Especially with the knowledge that a Krang creature came out. Could there be more?

Would Savage Mikey want to know? Maybe.

Donnie doesn’t. It’s illogical. And dangerous.

And yet. And yet.

It could be beneficial. It could be part of a base or ship. It could be something else entirely. If there’s some abandoned tech in there that could answer some of his questions... That could get him home.

Should he risk passing it up?

No. He can’t. Savage Mikey wasn’t willing to let anything stop him from reaching Leatherhead.

Donnie can’t let his uncertainty stop him from reaching his brothers.

He resumes his examination and touches the black stripe. It is, in fact, not paint. “Look at this. It’s some kind of… vine.”

Leon stays in the entrance. “I have bad experiences with vines.”

“It’s a sign of life.” Donnie looks deep into the tunnel. “I want to see where it goes.”

“Just a suggestion… What if we… Didn’t? Do that?”

“We don’t have to do anything.” Donnie moves forward, switching out the phones. “You do whatever you want. We both know it’s what you’ll do anyway.”

“Aw, come on, man. Don’t be like that!”

Donnie’s confident that he has every reason to act however he pleases. Unfortunately, common sense has him hesitating.

“…What are you so scared of?”

“I’m not scared.” Leon whines, but the way he looks at the vines, fingers scratching lightly over skin, Donnie begs to differ.

He might have believed him, one broken agreement ago, but he’s tired and pained and his patience has already worn thin.

Leon’s first mistake was admitting that he was a situational manipulator. He could easily be drafting an lie or excuse right now. It could be trick, and he was not about to get played.

He was too smart for that.

Besides, he had things to do. More important things.

“You’re welcome to wait.”

Donnie glares at him, pointedly clicking on the flashlight that’s thankfully accessible from the Lock Screen, and then starts his trek into the tunnel. Leon calls after him, but since his name is not and never will be “Guy,” Donnie confidently heads into the dark.

With a soft, “eugh boi,” Donnie hears padded steps follow him.

Previous Current Next

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Masterlist (Cillianmesoftlyyy)

Last updated: 8/24/24

As requested, here yah go my lovelies! Series are indented separately to keep them together. One-shot stories are listed in numbered format. Requested fics have a "⭐️"

Neil Lewis (Watching the Detectives 2007):

The Gumshoe is a Girl's Best Friend (fluff)

Horror Movies (smut) Horror Movies Pt 1 Horror Movies Pt2

As You Wish (smut) As You Wish Pt 1 As You Wish Pt 2 ⭐️

Tommy Shelby (Peaky Blinders):

In Love, in War (smut): In Love, in War Pt 1 In Love, in War Pt 2 In Love, in War Pt 3 In Love, in War Pt 4 In Love, in War Pt 5

At the Cabaret: At the Cabaret Pt 1 At the Cabaret Pt 2 At the Cabaret Pt 3 At the Cabaret Pt 4 At the Cabaret Pt 5

Take It on the Run (smut): Take It on the Run Take It on the Run Pt 2

Cillian Murphy:

Under the Weather (fluff)

Method Acting (smut)

So New (fluff)

Like a Good Neighbor... (smut)

Cut the Shit-delusion, Sweetheart (fluff)

Nerves (smut) ⭐️

Dr. Jonathan Crane (Batman Trilogy):

The Experiment (smut + my first work) The Experiment Pt 1 The Experiment Pt 2 The Experiment Pt 3

I Can Fix That... (smut) I Can Fix That Pt 1 I Can Fix That Pt 2 I Can Fix That Pt 3 I Can Fix That Pt 4

Jonathan Breech (On the Edge 2001):

The Ward (smut) The Ward Pt 1 The Ward Pt 2 The Ward Pt 3

Tom (The Party 2017):

Sweet Revenge (smut)

Agent Lenny Miller (Anna 2019):

How About It, Agent Miller? (smut)

William Killick (The Edge of Love 2009):

What I Want... (smut) What I Want... What I Want... Pt 2 ⭐️

Matthew Joy (In the Heart of the Sea 2015):

Wary Sailor (smut) Wary Sailor Pt. 1 Wary Sailor Pt. 2 Wary Sailor Pt. 3 Wary Sailor Pt. 4 Wary Sailor Pt. 5

The Castaway (fluff/smut) The Castaway Pt. 1 ⭐️

Mike Kiernan (Broken 2012):

Academic Validation (fluff)

Raymond Leon (In Time 2011)

Do You Know How to Bend? (smut)

[pinguwrites]

Kinktober 2023 | Day One — William Killick + dub-con

Pairing -> dom!william killick x wife!reader

Warnings -> DARK!!, smut (minors dni), dub-con bc reader isn't in the mindset to properly consent

KINKTOBER 2023 MLIST

Disclaimer: The Edge of Love characters, plots, quotes, etc. do not belong to me and belong to the rightful owner(s). This is only fanfiction and this is just for fun.

“Please,” your husband said, but it didn’t sound like a plead, rather a last chance for you to give in. “It’ll be quick — I promise.”

You shook your head, trying to find some subtle way to get out of his grasp. “No, William. I mean it.”

Today had been a long day of cleaning and cooking for you. From dawn to dusk, you were busy with overdue chores and garden work, phone calls and errands. Not to mention, a few of your friends stopped by unexpectedly and decided to stay still evening — which you didn’t mind, but it did leave you with more work, and a mind that could only think of sleep.

When William came home you were hoping to finally rest, snuggle up with him in bed, and have him hold you tight, but the moment he walked through that front door you could see his darkened eyes. They were still sweet, of course, they always were, but they were filled with lust. You knew right then and there that you weren’t going to get any sleep tonight, no matter how much you begged — he was your husband, and if he wanted to take you then he would.

William sighed. “Darling, don’t fight it.” He ran his fingers through your hair. “I’ll lay you down on the bed, and all you’ll have to do is relax and take it.”

“William,” you protested, but it was weak. “I don’t want to.”

“I’m not asking if you want it, I’m asking you to be nice,” he responded, still running his fingers through your hair. He stopped and then started tracing your lower lip, pushing his finger in your mouth a little so he could make it wet. “Now, will you let me fuck you? Will you let a husband fuck his wife?”

William had this habit of convincing you to do things he wanted. If you didn’t want to go for a walk, he’d sigh and tell you how lonely it would be by himself, if you were angry with him after a fight, he would place wild rose petals in the house and bake cookies until you couldn’t help but smile. 

You allowed it because he was a good husband. He always stayed with you through your ups and downs, he dotted on you when you were sick, and throughout your years of marriage he never once made you doubt him. He was loyal and faithful and romantic, and even though he could be a bit forceful at times, you loved him, and you knew he loved you. 

“Okay. But be gentle,” you relented, too sleepy to argue.

William hesitated at the word ‘gentle’, but then hummed a ‘yes’ and led you over to your bed. You lay down and put a pillow under your hips, spreading your legs with a bend. 

William eagerly took off your panties and slid a finger through your folds. You weren’t as wet as he wanted, so he gave a few kisses and licks to your pussy to turn you on.

It worked. Your eyes fluttered shut as he continued to eat you out, soft moans leaving your mouth. If he continued going you would surely fall asleep, maybe dream of his head between your legs once or twice, but then he stopped, and you whined.

You opened your eyes, confused and desperate for more, when he pushed his cock in with a swift thrust and start gently moving in and out of you.

He groaned and captured your lips in a kiss, placing his body over yours. The air was a bit cold, so his body heat was a welcoming touch. You let him drape himself all over you as though he were a blanket, his hands roaming your tits and stomach and thighs as he fucked you.

“Good,” he murmured, breath ticking your ear. “So good.”

It stayed like this for a while, both of you moving in tandem. There were little moans and low whispers, words of affection and love. You were well and truly about to fall asleep, ready to let him take care of you, but then he started to pick up the pace, enough so that his balls were slapping against your skin and your tits were bouncing. 

“W-William, slow down,” you insisted, but he only shook his head and started to pound into you faster. “I’m gonna be sore!”

He didn’t listen to your words, you weren’t even sure if he could hear them anymore. “I — ah — love you, love you so much.”

The bed was starting to shake. He wouldn’t stop, even when you tried to push him off you.

“Slow,” you choked out. “Slow!”

He finally heard you. “No,” he growled. “Relax and take it. Take it.”

With no choice but to obey, you did as he asked. You loosened your tense muscles and closed your eyes, letting him fuck you into the night. In the end, William always got what he wanted.

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@rainyforest777